I stare at the woman I’ve heard so much about, the woman who raised my mother.
The same woman my mom once described with a strange mix of longing and resentment—the woman who, according to her, had been both her protector and her greatest source of frustration.
My heart pounds as I take in every detail: the sharp cut of her cheekbones, the calm strength in her posture, and the faint lines around her eyes that betray her age despite her poised, ageless appearance.
My mother always said she would’ve been devastated when she disappeared.
That thought lingers in my mind now, pressing against the skepticism building in my chest.
How did she find me?
The question echoes louder with each passing second.
How did she even know to look for me?
I glance at the headmaster, hoping for some clarification, but he’s quiet, watching the interaction like a referee waiting to see who will make the first move.
The silence feels heavier than before, a suffocating weight that settles between the three of us.
I can’t tell what’s stronger in me: the doubt or the fascination.
They war with each other, twisting in my gut.
For years, I wondered if anyone from my mom’s side of the family might be out there, searching for me.
It was a fleeting thought I always pushed aside, too painful to entertain for long.
But now, faced with this living, breathing connection to a part of myself I barely know, I’m frozen.
“How—” My voice falters, dry and uncertain.
I clear my throat and try again, steady this time.
“How did you find me?”
It’s the simplest question I can manage, but even as I direct it toward her, it’s the headmaster who answers.
“Ms.
St’Clair has been looking for you for the past six years,” he begins, leaning slightly forward, his clasped hands resting on the polished wood of the desk.
“It started with a search for your mother after the patefaction.
When her name came up as missing, the trail led to you.
It wasn’t an easy process—information was scattered, and the influx of displaced children at that time made records inconsistent.
It took a while to trace which institution you’d been sent to.”
I barely register his words.
My focus shifts entirely to the woman seated across from me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression calm but her eyes restless.
I don’t want secondhand answers.
I want them from her.
“Why were you looking for Mom?” My question is sharp, edged with something between suspicion and hurt.
I watch as her gaze flickers to the headmaster, searching for something unspoken.
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a raised hand, never breaking my focus on her.
“No,” I say firmly, my voice carrying an edge I don’t usually dare to show.
“I need to hear this from her.
Why were you looking for Mom?
After twelve years, why now?
Why only just decide to look for her?”
My tone leaves little room for debate, and I know I’m treading dangerous ground with my boldness.
Defying the usual decorum, speaking out of turn in front of the headmaster—it could very well cost me a trip to the white room.
But at this moment, I don’t care.
The answers matter more.
Leaning forward in her chair, she takes a deep, steadying breath.
Her hands clasp tightly together in her lap, knuckles whitening slightly.
When she speaks, her voice carries a calm but firm edge, layered with emotions I can’t quite place.
“Well, to answer your first question, I came looking for her because of the patefaction.
I had to make sure she was safe,” she begins, her words deliberate, as though she’s picking each one carefully from a tangled web of explanations.
“As for your second question, it didn’t take me an entire twelve years.”
Her eyes meet mine, unwavering but softened by an undercurrent of regret.
“Over the years, I sent what I thought were the best hunters to find her, but I underestimated her abilities.
Somehow, she always sensed when they were close and moved before they could even make it to her front door.” A faint smile flickers across her face, more admiration than reproach, before fading as quickly as it came.
“And let’s not forget how well she hid you,” she adds, a note of exasperation mixed with reluctant respect coloring her tone.
“She knew what she was doing, ensuring no one—not even me—could find you.
Your mother was… resourceful, to say the least.”
She leans back slightly, her gaze searching mine as though trying to gauge my reaction.
The air between us feels charged, her words unraveling truths I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to accept.
My mother never kept the truth from me.
Each time we packed up our lives into hastily sealed boxes, she explained why.
“They’re getting close,” she’d say, her voice calm but her eyes betraying the storm beneath.
“Closer to finding me, closer to figuring you out.” She told me everything—everything except who was hunting us.
She never mentioned it was Tilly.
“Okay, makes sense,” I say finally, though the words feel hollow even as I speak them.
My eyes narrow slightly, my posture stiffening as the familiar edge of distrust rises in me.
“What I don’t get is why you’re here now.”
The question hangs in the air, sharp and heavy.
I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms tightly across my chest, watching her carefully.
Her polished demeanor falters for the briefest moment, just enough for me to catch the crack in the facade.
At this point, my rude-o-meter is way off the charts, but I shove the guilt to the back of my mind.
It’s not like I’m trying to be disrespectful—it’s just hard to wrap my head around this entire situation.
Back then, I could’ve given them her name.
When the police asked if there was anyone who could take me, I could’ve said Tilly St’Clair.
It might’ve saved me from ending up in the institution, but something held me back.
It doesn’t matter now.
It’s not something I can change, nor do I want to.
If I’d spoken up, I wouldn’t have ended up here.
I wouldn’t have met Farrah.
And for all the chaos in my life, Farrah is the one thing I wouldn’t trade for anything.
“Well, I came to take you home, of course.”
I almost get whiplash with how quickly my head jerks in her direction.
Home?
Did I hear that right?
There’s no way she expects me to just up and leave everything behind.
I mean, technically, I could—but do I want to?
That’s a different question entirely.
“Genesis, dear, did you hear what I said?” Her voice is softer now, almost coaxing, as though she’s trying to lure me into some comforting fantasy.
“I’m going to take you to come live with your grandfather and myself.
He doesn’t know I’ve found you yet,” she continues, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I wanted it to be a surprise since he thought I wouldn’t be able to do it.”
She shifts fully in her seat, her hand extending toward me like an invitation, like the solution to all my problems is sitting right there in her palm.
But all I can do is stare at it, frozen.
I glance at her outstretched hand, then toward the headmaster, my eyes searching for some unspoken rule that could stop her from taking me, that might crush the small bubble of hope swelling in my chest.
I know what I want to say.
What I should say.
Yes.
That easy.
Three letters.
One word.
But when I open my mouth, that’s not what comes out.
Instead, I hear my own voice, steady but quiet, saying, “Can I think about it?”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Both adults in the room openly gape at me, caught off guard by my response.
Tilly’s expression wavers between surprise and something I can’t quite place.
Hurt?
Disappointment?
Or maybe she’s convinced my mom poisoned me against her somehow, sowing distrust that’s now playing out in front of her.
The headmaster, on the other hand, looks dumbfounded for a completely different reason.
He knows, better than anyone, just how not great the institute is.
It’s no secret he expects every student here to leap at the first chance to leave.
But I don’t.
Tilly’s expression softens as she quickly composes herself, though the glimmer of hurt in her eyes remains.
“May I ask why?” she says gently, her voice even but tinged with vulnerability.
The weight of her question presses down on me, and I blurt out my answer before I lose my nerve.
“It’s Farrah,” I say, my voice steady but rushed.
“I can’t leave her.
She’s my best friend and the closest thing I’ve had to family in a long time.
She has no one here but me, and I’m afraid of what she’ll go through if I’m not here for her.”
Tilly leans back in her chair, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considers my words.
I don’t miss the way her gaze flickers to the headmaster for a fraction of a second, as if seeking confirmation of what I’ve just said.
He nods slightly, his brow furrowed in thought.
“She means that much to you,” Tilly says softly, not as a question but as a quiet observation.
“She does,” I confirm.
“We’ve been through everything together.
I can’t just walk away from her.
She needs me.”
For a moment, the room falls silent.
I brace myself, unsure whether Tilly will dismiss my concerns or try to argue with me.
Instead, she surprises me.
“I see,” she says finally, her voice kind but firm.
“You have a loyalty to her.
That’s… admirable.”
Her words catch me off guard, and I blink in confusion.
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course not,” she says, smiling faintly.
“But this is important, Genesis.
I want to help you, and if that means we need to figure something out for your friend, then we will.”
I stare at her, unsure if I heard her correctly.
“You’d help Farrah?”
“If she’s as important to you as you say, then yes.
Family doesn’t always mean blood, Genesis.” Her smile deepens, and for the first time, I see a flicker of the warmth my mom must have seen in her once.
Tilly releases an audible breath, her expression shifting from soft to resolute as she looks to Headmaster Winthrop.
“I’ll be taking this Farrah with me as well,” she declares, her tone brooking no argument.
“What?” I blurt out, my voice rising in shock, just as Headmaster Winthrop says, “Mrs.
St’Clair, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Tilly doesn’t so much as flinch.
Her piercing gaze locks onto the headmaster, and her voice takes on a sharp edge.
“And why is that?”
Headmaster Winthrop clears his throat, clearly taken aback by her directness.
“Mrs.
St’Clair,” he begins cautiously, “this is a secure institution.
The children here are wards of the state or otherwise placed under our care.
You may be Genesis’s biological grandmother, but you have no legal claim over this other girl.”
The headmaster’s face flushes slightly, he’s clearly not used to being cornered like this.
“There’s protocol to follow,” he insists, though his voice is less confident now.
“Unfortunately, it’ll take weeks before the Councillium even gets back to me, another week before the meeting is set, and then everything has to be reviewed.
Of course, this being your granddaughter, you are free to take her into your care without all of that red tape, but Ms.
Carter is a different story altogether.”
Just like that, my heart sinks, all of the hope I was clinging to deflating in an instant.
This is what I feared.
Farrah, the one person who made this place bearable, the one person I couldn’t imagine leaving behind… she’s being swept away by the bureaucracy.
I glance at Tilly, my chest tight, and I see her resolve harden.
She leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, her lips pressing into a thin line.
There’s no hesitation, no doubt in her posture or in her voice as she meets the headmaster’s gaze head-on.
“Are you done?” Her voice is low, sharp, like a warning.
“Because I can have the three remaining members of the Councillium on the phone in less than a minute to authorize this.”
Headmaster’s eyes bulge out of his sockets.
“Three re—”
“Yes, three, as I’m the fourth.” Tilly cuts him off smoothly, her voice unwavering as she reaches into her coat pocket.
With a flick of her wrist, she produces an elaborate pin, its silver surface catching the light.
The pin, a delicate work of craftsmanship, features the emblem of the Councillium — a symbol so intricate that few outside its inner circle would recognize it.
Tilly holds the pin out for him to see, her gaze steady and commanding.
“I take it I don’t need to tell you to keep your mouth shut about it?”
The headmaster doesn’t hesitate.
He nods quickly, his face drained of color, before giving a slight, almost apologetic bow.
His body language screams submission as the weight of her words sinks in.
She has power here, more power than he could have ever anticipated.
No one knows who the members of the Councillium are.
It’s one of the most tightly guarded secrets in the world of magical governance.
Only the members themselves and their spouses are aware of each other’s identities.
Even their closest allies, the leaders of the various factions, have no idea who holds the positions within the Councillium.
The secrecy is absolute, with only whispers of their influence ever leaking out.
If one member has to step down, or worse, passes away, the remaining members meet in absolute secrecy to select the individual who will replace them.
Not even their spouses have a say in the decision.
The process is shrouded in complete mystery.
No one gets to choose their successor; the power is passed along by the collective will of the Councillium, without outside interference or influence.
And now, here in this room, Tilly has just revealed herself as one of them.
“Now that that’s settled, go, get your friend and gather your things.
Be ready within the hour.
I should be done wrapping up the paperwork for both of you and getting authorization for Farrah.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
Without thinking, I dart out of my seat, knocking it to the floor with a loud thud.
The sound echoes in the room, but I don’t bother to right it.
I couldn’t care less about the chair or the formality of this place anymore.
The institution, its rules, its suffocating walls—they all fade into the background.
This is my ticket out, and I’m taking it without looking back.
I can already feel the rush of excitement and disbelief bubbling up inside me.
The thought of leaving, of finally being able to leave this place, fills me with a wild sense of freedom.
This place can suck it for all I care.
Now, I just need to find Farrah and tell her the good news.