Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
NOT MY CHOICE TO MAKE
The words hit the crowd like a physical blow, and chaos takes hold immediately, rippling outward in waves of panic and disbelief.
People start running back through the trees toward town, pushing and shoving in their desperation to reach their homes and families, to assess whatever damage has been done to the magical infrastructure that keeps them all safe.
Voices rise in the darkness, calling out names, shouting questions that no one can answer.
The orderly gathering dissolves into scattered motion, bodies disappearing between the trees as the forest swallows them whole.
I watch them go, rooted to the spot as the weight of responsibility bears down on my shoulders like something solid and unyielding.
Whatever is happening to the wards, whatever is unraveling inside Ruby Springs right now, it is tied to what just happened here.
The release of my power did not happen in isolation.
It moved through everything, through the ground beneath me, through the air, through the same threads I only just learned how to touch.
The connection is undeniable, written into every fiber of my being with a certainty I cannot ignore.
I am standing at the center of it, exactly where I was meant to be.
I push everything else down, the betrayal, the anger, the sharp, lingering ache of what my aunt tried to take from me again and drop to my knees on the forest floor.
The earth is cool beneath my palms, damp with evening dew and scattered with pine needles that press into my skin.
Reaching out, I place my hands flat against the ground and close my eyes, shutting out the last traces of movement around me, the distant sounds of people fleeing through the woods.
The newly awakened magic answers immediately, opening to me fully this time without resistance, without hesitation, flooding through me in a way that feels as easy as breathing. It rushes up through my arms, warm and alive, filling spaces inside me I never knew were empty.
Every thread of magic reaches out to me at once, giving me complete and undeniable awareness. The doors open wide as if it was waiting for me to gather it to me, as if this connection has always been here, dormant and patient.
I feel the manor first, sure and familiar, rooted deep and unwavering like an old friend welcoming me home.
I feel the threads beneath the ground stretching outward in every direction, alive and humming with quiet power, a network so vast and intricate it takes my breath away.
I feel the Spring, vibrant and constant, its pulse moving through the town like a heartbeat, the lifeblood of everything Ruby Springs has ever been.
I feel the people, every presence, every spark of magic woven into something larger than any one of us, each life a bright point in the constellation of this place.
Beneath it all, stretching far and wide, are the wards.
They’re there, fractured, flickering and stuttering like a dying lightbulb, but not failing in the way I feared.
The protective boundaries are stretched beyond their limits and left without the strength needed to hold them together, thinning in places where the fabric has worn too long without proper tending.
Understanding dawns with quiet certainty, washing over me like a mantle I have always been meant to wear, and my magic reacts instinctively. Generations of Thorne Witches have held this line, and my duty is written in my DNA, carved into my bones, woven through my blood.
This is what I was meant to do.
I don’t force the magic into it. I don’t have to.
I let my intention guide it as it strengthens and reshapes each line, pouring myself into the work with a focus that narrows the world down to just this, just the threads and the power and the steady rhythm of my own breathing.
The wards respond like they recognize me, like they have been waiting for exactly this touch, and together we make them whole.
The power surges outward from me in a controlled, deliberate wave as golden threads rise from the ground and stretch across the sky, weaving themselves together in a vast, unbroken arc over Ruby Springs.
They shimmer in the darkness, bright enough to cast shadows, beautiful in a way that makes my throat tight as I fight back tears.
The dome forms in a single, seamless motion, immense and pulsing, sealing into place with a quiet finality that sinks deep in my bones.
The golden light lingers for a brief moment before fading from sight, turning transparent while remaining firmly in place, fortified and enduring in a way I know will last far beyond this night.
The sensation of completion reverberates through me, a perfect note struck and held.
The moment it completes, the strength drains out of me all at once.
My arms give first, trembling and then simply giving up, then my balance follows, and I pitch forward before I can stop myself, the ground rushing up to meet me.
Ezra drops to his knees and catches me before I hit the ground, his reflexes faster than should be possible. His arms wrap around me and pull me onto his lap, cradling me against his chest like something precious and breakable.
“I’ve got you,” he says, hugging me close, his voice rough with something that might be relief or pride or both.
“I did it,” I manage, the words barely more than a breath, my voice threadbare and worn.
“You did, Marvel,” he replies, just as quietly, his hand coming up to smooth over my braids with unexpected gentleness. “You did it beautifully.”
I catch a glimpse of his smile, soft and genuine, before darkness claims me and pulls me under.
I come back to myself slowly, awareness returning in layers instead of all at once.
The first thing I register is warmth, something solid and soft resting against my chest, rising and falling in a steady rhythm with my breath.
The second is the full, uncooperative weight of my own body, heavy in the particular way that tells me exactly how much power I burned through tonight.
Every muscle feels wrung out, every bone feels hollow.
I open my eyes, and if I had even a fraction of energy left I would laugh.
Sir is staring down at me, his golden gaze sharp and entirely unblinking, his body nestled against my chest like he has claimed this position by divine right and refuses to vacate it for anyone. His tail is curled neatly against my shoulder, the very picture of composure.
“Well,” he says, his tone clipped and edged with an irritation that does not quite manage to conceal the relief running beneath it, “you are awake.”
A breath slips out of me, softer than I intend. “Hi to you too.” He isn’t one for affection and we both know it, but I cannot help the brief, grateful brush of my fingers down his impossibly soft fur anyway.
He allows it, which tells me more than anything else could.
“They told me you collapsed,” he replies, his voice in my mind carrying the weight of deep personal offence, as though my losing consciousness was something I had done specifically to inconvenience him. “Highly inconvenient.”
I shift slightly, testing my limbs, taking slow stock of myself.
The room tilts just enough to remind me that I am nowhere near fully recovered.
My muscles feel scraped clean, my magic quiet now but present in a way it has never been before in my entire life, rooted and settled beneath my skin instead of locked somewhere beyond my reach.
“I’m glad you’re fine,” Sir adds after a measured pause, his tone softening by precisely one degree. “Dramatic, but fine.”
“I’ll take that,” I murmur, managing something close to a smile. I will warm his heart yet. It may take years, but I am patient.
I turn my head carefully, the movement costing me, and my voice comes out rougher than I expect. “I’m sorry,” is all I can croak out.
Maceo stands closest, his posture tight and coiled, his attention fixed on me with an intensity that makes it plain he has not moved far from this spot since they brought me back inside.
His eyes track over me like he is still running the inventory, checking for damage.
Lucien stands just beside him, composed as ever, arms folded across his chest, rings catching the low light, though the crease between his brows betrays him.
Ezra sits near the edge of the chaise, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, his expression quietly open, his hand moving in long, slow strokes up and down my leg in reassurance.
“No need for that,” Ezra says, his voice calm and unhurried. “You’re awake. That’s all that matters right now.”
“Yes, I am,” I reply, voice raspy.
Maceo exhales, long and controlled, the tension in his broad shoulders releasing just slightly, as though he has been holding it for hours. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“I’m fine,” I say, even though I can still feel the echo of everything that happened tonight sitting deep in my bones like an aftershock.
“You rebuilt the wards and then passed out cold,” Lucien says evenly, his eyes focused on mine. “You are more than allowed a moment to collect yourself.”
I push myself upright anyway, bracing my palm flat against the cushion until the room stops its slow rotation. Sir shifts fluidly with me, adjusting his position without a word of complaint, though his tail flicks once in clear and deliberate disapproval of my pace.
“How did you find me?” I ask, once the room holds still again.
Ezra glances briefly down at Sir before answering. “He told us.”
My brows draw together. “Sir?”
“I had no choice,” Sir says at once, his tone sharpening defensively. “You were in distress, and the three of them were taking far too long to grasp the severity of the situation. Someone had to be efficient.”
Maceo lets out a quiet, disbelieving huff of air. “Still going to take some getting used to,” he mutters.