I CLOSED Randall’s Grimoire, mind racing.
Ryan lay sleeping beside me in the bed, his hand curled against my hip.
It was late, and my eyes were burning. The candlelight flickered low.
Randall had said I’d find the answers I needed between these pages.
But so far all I’d gotten was that Randall and Morgan were fucking liars and that every wizard treated their Grimoire like a dia—a journal.
“Give you so much crap,” I whispered tiredly.
They hadn’t seen Myrin coming. Or by the time they had, it’d been too late.
They’d underestimated him.
Much like Myrin had done to me.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to be seeing.
It was curious, though.
Both Morgan and Randall had written that magic came from the mind.
That it was like imagination.
Why can’t you just wish him away, Mama had said.
Why indeed?
There were rules, right?
Ceilings.
It wasn’t limitless.
But hadn’t I always been told normal rules didn’t apply to me?
That I wasn’t like those that had come before me.
What if I could—
“Why’re you still awake?” Ryan mumbled next to me.
I startled a little. “Thinking.”
“About?”
“Wizarding things.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Maybe.”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Need help?”
Don’t ever leave me. “Not now. Not tonight. Sleep. It’s late.”
“You too.”