She hesitates, then asks, “If control was beaten into you, how did you unlearn it?”
I consider the question longer than I expect to.
“Because it stopped working,” I say at last. “The more power I gained, the more rigid suppression became a liability. I had to understand it instead of just silencing it.”
“And now?”
“Now I choose when to hold back.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly. “And when not to?”
I hold her eyes steadily. “That depends on what’s at stake.”
She doesn’t look away. The space between us grows warmer, not volatile, just charged with awareness.
After a moment, she clears her throat. “I need help. Will you help me investigate everything when we return?”
“Yes.”
“Not just the traitor,” she adds. “The ritual. The buried Wildspont. Whatever shifted my magic.”
“We’ll investigate together,” I add. “When we return to Nytheria, we combine forces. Your intuition. My discipline. We don’t split efforts again.”
Relief moves through the bond like warmth. She nods.
“Together,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
Then I narrow my eyes slightly.
“What did you dream about? You woke up and your magic was all over the place.”
Her reaction is immediate.
“What?”
“You woke unsettled. That's what triggered it.”
She looks away too quickly.
“Nothing.”
“Amelia.”
Her ears flush faintly.
“I dreamed…” She hesitates. “You had wings.”
I still and my heart start beating faster.
“…That’s all?” I ask carefully.
Her expression dares me to challenge her.
“Yes.”
I consider lying, but we made a promise…
