**Interlude

  After the Grove

  They didn’t stop running until the trees loosened around them and the oppressive hum of the Bell Grove faded into a distant, vibrating ache. The pressure in the air eased by degrees. Trixie didn’t remember falling — just the feeling of her legs giving out, the ground rising up to meet her, and Nolan catching her before she hit the forest floor.

  Now she sat slumped against a mossy log, shivering hard enough her teeth clicked. Her hands glowed faintly under the skin — the Bell-blue shimmer tangled with threads of violet like bruises made of magic.

  Dixie paced in frantic circles in front of her, tail fluffed in full panic mode. “Say something—Trixie, say anything—curse, scream, insult Nolan’s fashion sense—just SAY SOMETHING!”

  Trixie wrapped her arms around herself, sinking deeper into the oversized hoodie she’d barely managed to keep hold of during the sprint. “I can’t…”

  Her own voice startled her — it was paper-thin and cracking down the middle.

  Nolan crouched in front of her, breath still ragged from the run. His hands hovered like he wasn’t sure where it was okay to touch.

  “Trix,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

  She tried.

  Her gaze drifted past him, unable to focus. Her pulse skittered like a terrified bird. Her whole body trembled from the aftershock — of the Hollow King’s voice, of the Chronicle’s pull, of the Archivist’s quiet, terrifying certainty.

  Her throat tightened. “He… He was in my head.”

  Nolan’s jaw flexed, fury and fear sharpening his features. “I know. I know he was.”

  She shook her head helplessly. “No — you don’t. Not like—” Her breath hitched, the word collapsing in her mouth. “Nolan, he knew me. He looked at me, and I— I felt like I wasn’t even—”

  She swallowed hard.

  “Like I wasn’t even me anymore.”

  That broke something in him.

  Nolan moved — slow, deliberate — and placed his hands on her upper arms, steady but gentle. Grounding. Warm. Human.

  “Trixie,” he murmured, leaning in so she couldn’t look away. “You are still you.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  She shook her head violently. “No — no, I’m not. Something’s in me— something old and wrong and— I can feel it, Nolan. He’s still in there. Watching. Waiting.”

  Her voice cracked on the last word.

  Nolan drew her into his chest, arms wrapping around her, holding her tightly but not constricting. She stiffened for half a second — overwhelmed — then collapsed against him with a sharp, broken sound she tried to smother against his shoulder.

  Dixie stopped pacing and climbed onto Trixie’s lap, pressing close, purring so hard her ribs vibrated. “He didn’t get all of you. I felt you fight him. I felt it.”

  “He touched my mind,” Trixie rasped. “He touched… everything.”

  “Yeah,” Nolan said quietly, chin brushing her hair. “And you shoved him back.”

  “I didn’t shove— I barely—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “You don’t understand how close that was.”

  Nolan reached up and cupped the back of her head, thumb brushing her curls. “Then explain it to me. Because I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away. I’m not scared of you, Trixie.”

  “You should be.”

  “I’m not.”

  She let out a trembling exhale. “Nolan… I almost opened something back there.”

  He stiffened. “The Chronicle?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Hollow King?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  Her breath hitched. “I wanted to.” A whisper. Horrified. Confessional.

  Nolan pulled her closer.

  “That wasn’t you,” he said fiercely. “That was pressure. That was manipulation. That was— that was assault, Trixie. Mental. Magical. Emotional. And you fought it. I saw you fight it.”

  She shook her head. “What if next time—?”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Nolan said.

  Trixie let out a humorless laugh. “That’s adorable, Nolan. And wrong.”

  He squeezed her shoulders, forced her to look at him.

  “Then listen to me: you are not doing this alone.”

  Her breath came uneven. “You can’t help me with this.”

  “I can hold onto you,” he said. “When you slip. When you’re scared. When he tries again. I can drag you back every single time. Count on it.”

  She opened her mouth — to argue, to cry, to say the truth she feared:

  You can’t stop Him.

  But Nolan’s eyes — dark, steady, stubborn — stopped her.

  “And if the Hollow King touches you again,” he continued, “he’ll have to go through me first.”

  Dixie huffed. “And me. And my claws. And my unending rage.”

  Trixie let out a shaking laugh that was more sob than sound. Nolan’s hand came up to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his touch careful, reverent.

  “You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re breathing. You’re with me. That’s what’s real.”

  Another tear slipped down.

  Trixie leaned into his chest again, exhausted, terrified, and relieved all at once.

  Dixie curled protectively against her ribs.

  Nolan held her like she might break —but he believed she wouldn’t.

  And for the first time since the Hollow King whispered her name…

  Trixie believed it too.