The room they brought her to was smaller than the hall, but it felt far more deliberate.
After the vast halls and shifting corridors of Agragore, the chamber felt almost intimate. The walls were lined with dark wood rather than stone, polished smooth and etched with faint markings that disappeared when she tried to focus on them. A single window overlooked the inner grounds, though the glass distorted the view just enough to make distance difficult to judge.
At the center of the room stood a round table.
Three chairs occupied one side. Only one sat opposite them.
"Please," Mistress Elowen said, gesturing toward the lone chair. "Sit."
Genevieve obeyed, smoothing her skirt as she lowered herself into the seat. Sylvester hopped up beside her feet and settled close, his presence a quiet anchor.
The three figures across from her took their places without a sound.
Mistress Elowen sat in the middle. To her right was a man with ash-brown hair streaked faintly with silver, his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp and assessing. To her left sat a woman whose dark eyes seemed to reflect more than the room itself, her fingers steepled thoughtfully.
"This is not an examination of skill," Elowen said evenly. "You have already demonstrated more than enough aptitude."
Genevieve's pulse quickened despite herself.
"This," the woman on the left continued, "is an evaluation of understanding."
"Understanding of what?" Genevieve asked before she could stop herself.
Elowen's lips curved faintly. "That is one of the questions."
The man leaned forward slightly. "Tell us," he said, "when did your magic first answer you?"
Genevieve hesitated. "Answer me?"
"When did it respond without instruction," he clarified. "Not when you summoned it. When it chose to act."
Her thoughts flashed back to the dream. The light beneath her skin. The letter glowing in response to her touch.
"Recently," she said carefully. "More recently than I'm comfortable with."
The woman on the left tilted her head. "And before that?"
"It was… restless," Genevieve replied. "It reacted to emotion more than intent."
The man's gaze sharpened. "Did you ever attempt to suppress it?"
"Yes," she admitted. "But I learned quickly that forcing it only made things worse."
Elowen nodded once, as though confirming something to herself.
"Who taught you control?" the man asked.
"No one formally," Genevieve said. "I learned through observation. Trial. Mistakes."
"And your companion?" the woman asked, glancing toward Sylvester.
"He helped," Genevieve said simply. "He always has."
Silence stretched across the table.
Then Elowen folded her hands. "You listed no family history in your application."
Genevieve's chest tightened. "I don't have one."
"Everyone has a history," the man said calmly. "Even if they don't know it."
"I know what I was told," Genevieve replied, her voice steady despite the tension curling in her stomach. "My parents died when I was young. I was raised in Chocolano."
"And before that?" the woman pressed.
"I don't remember."
The woman studied her carefully. "Does that trouble you?"
"Yes," Genevieve answered without hesitation. "But I've learned to live with unanswered questions."
The man exchanged a glance with Elowen.
"Your magic reacted strongly to the sigil on your summons," Elowen said. "Did you notice?"
Genevieve nodded slowly. "It recognized it."
"Recognized," the man repeated. "An interesting word choice."
"It felt familiar," Genevieve said, frowning. "Not comforting. Just… known."
The woman leaned forward now, her voice softer. "Have you ever experienced moments where the world seems to respond to you? Doors opening. Paths clearing. People arriving when you need them?"
Genevieve thought of the envelope on her desk. Of Winston arriving just in time. Of the road seeming to watch her as she traveled.
"Yes," she admitted.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Elowen stood. "That will be enough."
Genevieve blinked. "That's it?"
"For now," Elowen replied. "You will be assigned provisional lodging while we deliberate."
"Deliberate what?" Genevieve asked.
The man's gaze softened slightly. "Where you fit."
The door opened behind her.
As Genevieve rose, a strange sensation brushed across her awareness. Threads again. Invisible and taut, stretching outward from her chest and brushing against something just beyond her reach.
The woman spoke again, her tone carefully neutral. "You should know, Genevieve Rose, that Agragore does not summon without reason."
"I know," Genevieve said quietly.
"No," Elowen corrected gently. "You don't. Not yet."
The door closed behind her with a soft finality.
The corridor beyond felt narrower than before, the walls closer, the light dimmer. Sylvester pressed against her ankle as they walked, his tail flicking in agitation.
"They're afraid of something," he murmured.
"Of me?" Genevieve asked.
"Of what you represent," he replied.
They were shown to a modest room overlooking the inner grounds. It was comfortable, well-appointed, and utterly unfamiliar. As soon as the door closed, Genevieve sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling despite her efforts to steady them.
"I don't feel safe," she whispered.
Sylvester hopped up beside her. "You're not in danger."
"That's not the same thing," she replied.
Outside the window, the academy pulsed with quiet life. Lights shifted along corridors. Runes flared and faded. Agragore breathed, watched, and waited.
Genevieve pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her skin.
For the first time since leaving Chocolano, doubt crept in.
Not about her magic.
But about what the academy truly wanted from her.
And whether, once decided, it would ever let her go.