The knock at the door came just as I finished folding the letter.
The sound cut cleanly through the quiet of the cottage, sharp enough to make my shoulders tense. I had been standing at the desk, smoothing the parchment with my fingertips as though it might crease again if I wasn't careful. Sylvester lifted his head from the bed immediately, ears twitching.
"That'll be Winston," he said, already hopping down. "I went to get him."
My heart skipped. "You what?"
"You were shaking," he replied calmly, as if that explained everything. "And letters sealed with academy wax don't usually arrive without consequences."
Before I could argue, the knock came again, measured and deliberate.
"Rose?" Winston Hawthorne's voice called through the door. "It's me."
I hesitated, staring at the wood grain beneath my hand. Part of me wanted to pretend I hadn't heard him. Part of me wanted the world to pause just a little longer before I had to say the words out loud.
I opened the door.
Winston stood on the threshold, the early morning light stretching behind him, catching in his copper curls and softening the sharp lines of his coat. He looked as he always did at first glance — composed, familiar, steady — but his eyes were alert, scanning my face with practiced care. It was the look of someone who had learned, long ago, how to read what people weren't saying.
"Sylvester said you received something," he said gently. "I didn't want to assume, but… Agragore doesn't waste time when it's interested."
That word landed quietly between us.
Interested.
I stepped aside. "It came this morning."
He nodded once and entered, closing the door behind him. He didn't ask to see the letter right away. Winston never rushed moments that mattered. He had learned patience in places where impatience cost more than pride.
I handed him the parchment.
He took it carefully, eyes scanning the seal first. His fingers paused there, just long enough for me to notice. When he finally unfolded the letter, he read it once without expression. Then again, more slowly. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"They didn't accept you," he said at last.
"No," I replied. "They summoned me."
The word shifted the air in the room.
Winston lowered himself into the chair across from me, the letter still in his hands. "That's… uncommon," he said carefully. "When I was at the university, we heard stories. Not many. Just enough to know they happen when the council wants to see someone without interference."
"Interference?" I asked.
He hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Letters of recommendation. Family names. Patronage. Things you don't have."
I swallowed.
"I studied at Agragore's university branch," he continued, voice even. "Not the school itself. Different expectations. Different doors. But the faculty overlap more than people realize. When Agragore is uncertain, they summon. When they're curious, they summon. When they don't want outside influence… they summon."
Sylvester hopped onto the table beside me. "She's ready."
Winston's gaze softened, though concern lingered beneath it. "I know she is. That doesn't mean Agragore will be gentle about it."
Outside, the sounds of Chocolano drifted faintly through the window. A cart rolled past. Someone laughed. Life continued in its familiar rhythm, blissfully unaware of the shift taking place inside these walls.
"When do I leave?" I asked.
Winston glanced back at the letter. "Tomorrow morning. Transport will stop along the main road. They're efficient."
Tomorrow.
The word pressed against my ribs.
Winston stood. "Then we prepare. Properly."
The rest of the day unfolded in fragments.
We packed quietly, the cottage filled with the soft sounds of movement and memory. Clothes were folded and refolded. Books were chosen, then reluctantly set aside when practicality won out. Winston moved through the space with respectful familiarity, never touching anything without asking, never commenting on the age or wear of what surrounded me.
At one point, he paused near the small shelf where my parents' belongings rested.
"You kept them," he said softly.
"I didn't know what else to do with them," I replied.
"That's usually the right answer," he said.
Sylvester supervised from the bed."You don't need three scarves.""Yes, I do.""You truly don't."
By afternoon, Winston returned from town with supplies and news I had hoped would wait.
"They know," he said gently. "Chocolano always knows."
I nodded, my throat tight.
As evening settled, Winston lingered by the door while I prepared supper. The cottage smelled of herbs and warm bread, familiar and grounding.
"You won't be alone," he said quietly. "Not there. Not ever."
I nodded, though the knot in my chest refused to loosen.
That night, after Winston left and the cottage fell silent, I sat by the window and watched the road.
My magic stirred beneath my skin, restless but calm, as though aware that the world had finally begun to answer it.
For the first time, I did not wonder whether I belonged at Agragore.
I wondered what had seen me first.