Page 21 of Hex Appeal

An unexpected thought struck him: what if her modifications really did make the hex safer?What if her fresh perspective could prevent what happened at Windermoore?What if together, they could create something better than either could alone?

His tie gave a hopeful little twitch.

Maybe there was still a way to salvage this situation.To protect the students while also respecting her innovations.To find common ground beyond their attraction.

The only problem was that he'd have to explain Windermoore.Would have to relive his worst failure.Would have to trust her with his deepest professional shame.

Through the window, Ceries demonstrated a shield charm, her movements confident and precise.A student's attempt wavered, but instead of taking over, she gently guided their hands into the correct position, her patience evident even from a distance.

His watch chain gave an encouraging little tug toward the window.

Maybe it was time to stop running from the past.Maybe it was time to trust someone again—professionally and perhaps personally.

Maybe Ceries Frostwind, with her color-changing hair and stubborn determination, was exactly what Grimm Mawr Academy needed.

What he needed.

His tie straightened slightly, as if preparing for a difficult but necessary conversation.

Tomorrow.He'd tell her everything tomorrow.

But for now, he had to figure out how to address Thorncraft's obvious manipulation.Because one thing was becoming increasingly clear: the trustee had never cared about student safety or curriculum improvements.

He had another agenda entirely.And he was using them both as pawns.

The question was: what was Thorncraft's real game?

Chapter 6

Monday mornings atGrimm Mawr Academy typically involved at least three minor magical mishaps before breakfast.This particular Monday was overachieving spectacularly, as evidenced by the amphibian chorus line Ceries discovered in the east corridor.

She heard the croaking before she saw the cause.Rounding the corner, she found what could only be described as a warty flash mob—a dozen toad-shaped lockers hopping down the hallway while belting out the school fight song with surprising harmony.Papers, quills, and someone's half-finished homework fluttered in their wake like bewildered confetti.

"Oh sweet magic," she muttered, drawing her wand.A flash of movement caught her eye as a particularly determined toad—this one sporting school colors—made a break for the exit.She lunged, diving across the polished floor and catching it mid-hop.

"Professor Frostwind, I trust you have an explanation for why the east wing lockers are attempting a musical number?"

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