Chapter 9

The air outside RAPS carried the faint chill of late afternoon, the kind that settles in quietly, unnoticed until it brushes against your skin. The sun was dipping low, gilding the cobblestones in warm golds and the wrought-iron gates in soft shadow. Q walked beside Professor Ligarius, her head low, her shoulders slumped, her movements heavy with defeat.

Neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the rhythmic click of Ligarius's polished boots and the uneven scuff of Q's, her muddied soles dragging across the pristine path. Each step felt like a retreat, the weight of the glittering spires behind her pressing harder and harder against her back.

When they reached the gates, she stopped. Her hands clutched the fraying edges of her apron, fingers twisting at the fabric as though it might hold her together. She didn't look back at the school, its grandeur now a cruel mockery of the dream she'd carried with her. Instead, she stared straight ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line, her breath uneven.

"Did you forget anything?"

Ligarius's voice was calm, almost gentle, but it carried the faintest edge of expectation.

Q shook her head.

"No." she muttered, though the word felt like a lie.

He tilted his head, watching her carefully. "Are you certain?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening on the apron's edge. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from the tears she'd barely stopped shedding.

"I just wanted to talk to Maddy," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "That's all I wanted. But she…"

Her throat caught, and she forced the words out.

"She doesn't want to talk to me. So I'll go home."

Home.

The word hung in the air like a curse.

The farm she'd left behind rose vividly in her mind: her mother's sharp tongue, her father's disappointment, the endless cycle of chores that swallowed the hours whole. The thought made her stomach twist, but what else was there?

Here, in this polished world, she was an intruder, a blot on a perfect canvas.

She took a step forward, the movement shaky but determined. But Ligarius's voice stopped her.

"What about your letters?"

She froze, blinking in confusion. "What?"

He gestured toward her apron pocket, where the edges of her folded letters peeked out like a secret she'd forgotten she was keeping.

"The letters," he said evenly. "You've clung to them since you arrived. They seem important."

Her gaze dropped to the bundle, her cheeks flushing as she realized how tightly her fingers had curled around the fabric, as though the letters were an anchor she couldn't let go of.

"They were for Maddy," she admitted softly, her voice cracking on the name. "One for every day she'd be gone."

Her lips trembled, and she added bitterly, "But it's stupid. She wouldn't want them anyway."

Ligarius raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of disapproval in his sharp gray eyes.

"Stupid?" he repeated. "You wrote 365 letters for someone you care about. That isn't stupidity, Miss Q. That's resolve."

She frowned, unsure whether his words were meant as mockery or praise.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice dropping. "She doesn't care."

Ligarius's gaze didn't waver.

"Perhaps not right now," he said. "But feelings are fickle things. Circumstances change. If she won't take them all at once, then why not give them as you planned? One at a time."

Q stared at him, her brow furrowed. "You mean… just keep trying?"

He nodded. "Precisely. A little patience, Miss Q. Even hearts that seem closed can be unlocked with the right key."

Her fingers brushed the edges of the letters, the worn paper soft beneath her touch. The thought of handing them to Maddy, of putting her heart in someone else's hands over and over again, felt terrifying. But wasn't that why she'd written them? To show Maddy that even when the world pulled them apart, she would always be there?

"You think she'll read them?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Ligarius hesitated for the first time. His lips parted as though to answer, but before he could speak, a voice cut through the stillness behind them.

"Queenie!"

The sound of her full name—sharp and urgent—sent a jolt through her chest. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.

And there she was.

Maddy.

Not the poised and perfect Maddy who had stood so coldly in that glittering hall, but the Maddy Q had known all her life. Her golden hair had come loose, strands whipping wildly in the breeze as she ran. She clutched her skirts in both hands, holding them far higher than propriety allowed, revealing her stockinged legs and scuffed shoes. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her steps were uneven, her heels clicking awkwardly against the stones.

"Maddy?" Q whispered, frozen in place.

She watched in horror as Maddy's foot caught on the uneven cobblestones. Her body pitched forward, arms flailing as she struggled to keep her balance. She fell hard, her knees striking the ground with a sickening thud.

Q moved instinctively, her feet starting toward her friend, but Ligarius's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Wait." he said softly.

"She's hurt!" Q snapped, shrugging off his hand. But his gaze was steady, his voice calm.

"She'll get back up," he said. "Let her meet you this time."

Q hesitated, her heart clenching as she watched Maddy push herself upright. Her hands trembled as she brushed at her skirts, wincing at the tear in the fabric. For a moment, she stood still, catching her breath. Then, without hesitation, she kicked off her shoes, leaving them discarded on the path. Barefoot, she gathered her skirts once more and started running again.

There was nothing graceful about her now. Her hair streamed behind her like a wild banner, her stockings streaked with dirt. Her movements were clumsy, desperate, but Q had never seen her look more real.

When Maddy finally reached her, she didn't say a word. She threw her arms around Q, pulling her into a fierce, trembling hug. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps against Q's shoulder, and her grip was almost painfully tight, as though she feared letting go would break something fragile between them.

Q stood there, stunned, her arms hanging limply at her sides. But then the warmth of Maddy's embrace melted her hesitation, and she wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her just as fiercely.

"I'm sorry," Maddy whispered, her voice muffled against Q's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Q's throat tightened, the ache in her chest finally giving way to something warmer, softer. She pressed her face into Maddy's shoulder, her tears soaking into the delicate fabric of her gown.

"I missed you." Q murmured, her voice breaking.

Maddy pulled back just enough to meet Q's gaze, her own eyes glistening. "I missed you too."

Behind them, Ligarius watched in silence, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He adjusted his hat, the brim casting a shadow over his face, and turned back toward the gates.

His work here, it seemed, was done.