Page 21

HAZEL

H e says he’d do it again.

And that’s what breaks me.

Not the blood or the tear still snarling open behind us like a cosmic wound. Not the bone-deep ache that tells me my magic isn’t ready for what I’m about to do.

It’s him .

Broken and bleeding, whispering like I’m something worth dying for.

And the worst part?

I believe him.

I press a shaking hand to his chest. His heartbeat stutters, sluggish and uneven. Still there. Still fighting. But for how long?

He needs time.

I have to buy him that time.

I stand. My legs hate me for it. My lungs feel like they’ve been replaced with burning fog. But I turn toward the tear—my wand in one hand, my raw, messy fear in the other—and I face it.

“Okay,” I mutter. “Time to get feral.”

The veil snarls again. A rippling arc of shadow curls from its edge, lashing the grove like a whip. I duck, roll, stumble back to my feet with a manic laugh.

“Oh, you wanna dance? Cool. Let’s see if you can handle a blackout chaos witch with a grudge and poor impulse control.”

I slam my wand into the dirt.

Magic erupts .

It’s not polished. It’s not stable.

It’s mine .

The ley lines beneath the Grove flare bright and golden, responding to my energy, not because it’s clean or balanced, but because it’s real.

I start drawing the circle.

Not the one Thorn taught me.

The one I created. The one with overlapping rings and sigils that technically aren’t sanctioned but happen to work really freaking well if you’re desperate and emotionally compromised.

My voice cracks as I chant.

Each word is a whip crack. A scream. A spell woven out of anger and fear and love.

The veil surges again, fighting back.

I grit my teeth. “Not today, void hole.”

I throw up the shield glyph just as another pulse slams toward me. It ricochets off, cracking the ground.

Behind me, Derek groans.

“You stay down!” I shout over my shoulder. “Or so help me I will bind you to the moss and force-feed you flower tea!”

He groans again.

I’ll take that as compliance.

The spell circle glows.

Almost ready.

I pour everything into it, every failed spell, every messy lesson, every night I cried in my bunk because I thought I’d never be enough.

And finally it opens.

A gate of light slams down across the tear, weaving through the circle’s edge like stitching in a wound. The veil shrieks, twisting and lashing, but it can’t break through.

I channel harder.

My nose starts bleeding. My knees buckle.

I don’t care.

“Hazel!” someone yells from the trees—maybe Thorn, maybe Milo, maybe the wind.

I don’t stop.

Not until the veil groans once more.

And seals.

For now.

I collapse to my knees, blood dripping from my lip, the magic sizzling out of my bones like smoke after a fire.

Derek’s still breathing.

The Grove is still intact.

The kids are safe.

And me?

I’m cracked all the way down.

But I didn’t break.

The Grove is too quiet.

No birds. No rustle of curious pixies. Even the wind seems to have taken a vow of silence, like the whole forest is holding its breath, waiting to see if we’re still alive in the morning.

I sit cross-legged in the dirt beside Derek, my arms aching, my fingertips raw, my soul practically hollowed out by whatever the hell just came out of me.

I did it.

I sealed the veil.

Or at least—I think I did.

It’s holding. For now. There’s no more screaming magic, no more shadows slithering out of the rift like hungry smoke. The Grove is still. Unnaturally still. Like even the ley lines are too stunned to vibrate.

I let out a shaky breath and glance down at Derek.

He hasn’t moved.

His face is pale, drawn tight with pain even in unconsciousness. His shirt is soaked through—blood, sweat, maybe both—and his hand is ice in mine. The kind of cold that scares me.

The kind of cold that feels final.

“You absolute idiot,” I whisper, brushing a leaf out of his hair. “You couldn’t let me have one dramatic self-sacrificial moment, huh? Had to go and make it about you.”

The only answer is the low buzz of ley energy curling beneath the soil. Distant. Faint. Like everything’s still reeling from what just happened.

The trees lean in around us, their limbs arching overhead in a canopy of soft shadow and silver moonlight. Ferns crowd the edges of the Grove, damp and dewy. Wildflowers wilt where the surge hit hardest, petals scorched, color drained.

It smells like burnt magic and wet moss.

I shift so I’m kneeling beside him, gently lifting his head to rest it more comfortably on my rolled-up coat. The movement pulls at my side—probably bruised. Definitely punished. But I don’t care.

“I think I messed it up,” I whisper.

There’s a lump in my throat I can’t swallow.

“I mean, it worked, technically. The tear’s closed. Temporarily. It’s just… I don’t know. I cut glyphs too fast, I merged runes that probably shouldn’t be merged, I didn’t ask permission from the ley flow. I did everything wrong.”

My voice cracks.

The Grove says nothing.

And that silence? It’s worse than screaming.

I look back at Derek.

His lips are parted slightly, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. His brow is furrowed like he’s still fighting in his dreams.

“You should be yelling at me right now,” I murmur. “Calling me reckless. Telling me I’m a menace to magical infrastructure.”

My hand finds his again.

Still cold.

I press my forehead to his knuckles, breathing through the ache that builds in my chest, hot and sharp and terrifying.

“I’m not ready,” I say, voice small.

“I’m not ready to lose you.”

The wind finally picks up—soft, stirring the trees with a sound like breath through feathers. A few leaves flutter down and settle in the dirt near his shoulder.

Somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove calls. Low. Lonesome.

I tuck myself closer to him, curling at his side like a barrier between him and the night.

“I know you’d do it again,” I whisper.

“Because you’re you. And that’s the problem.”

My eyes sting.

I blink up at the moon, full and too bright, casting Derek in silver like he’s already halfway to some other plane I’m not invited to.

“No more saving me,” I murmur, voice shaking. “Not if it means I lose you to do it.”

His hand twitches faintly in mine.

I freeze.

Wait.

But nothing else happens.

I pull his arm over me like a blanket and settle my cheek against his chest, listening hard for the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat.

Still there.

And I stay like that.

All night.

Through the cold.

Through the long, aching breath between terror and hope—whispering his name like a lifeline.

Just in case the universe is still listening.