The next few days, Yuu’s pending decision followed her like a leaky ceiling, dripping on all of her interactions at the worst of times. The first thing she had done was to write letters to her mother and sister. She included details from her time here. She emphasized that she was alright, and alive, and was working on finding a way home. Then, just like the Leech twins had shown her with the first note she’d sent to Mallory, she deposited them through mirrors all around campus, including the Dark Mirror itself, though it still refused to speak to her as she did.


    Every morning, she woke up in Ramshackle, half-expecting it to feel foreign now that she remembered home—but it didn’t. The ghosts still chattered in her ears, Grim still snored at her side, and the old floorboards still creaked in all the places she had learned by heart. It was a house that had never belonged to her, yet somehow, it had become hers.


    The weight of leaving sat heavy on Yuu’s shoulders, but only one person knew the truth.


    Grim.


    From the moment she told him, he had been in absolute denial.


    At first, he had scoffed. "Yeah, right. You’re always makin’ a big deal over nothin’. You’ll be here tomorrow, just like always."


    Then, as the days passed and she didn’t laugh it off, Grim got clingy. Really clingy. If she so much as stood up, he was on her heels. If she went to sleep, he curled up on her instead of at her side. He stole her coat and stuffed it under the bed. He kept nudging her wrist with his head, demanding not to be ignored.


    "You can’t just leave me here! Who’s gonna scratch my ears when I have a rough day? Who’s gonna cook for me when the cafeteria food’s awful?!"


    "Grim, I don’t cook lunch for you—"


    "EXACTLY! And if you leave, no one ever will!"


    She should have been exasperated. Instead, it just made her hurt.


    She didn’t tell anyone else at first, but it wasn’t as if she could gather proof of the magic of this world for her messages alone.


    She spent an afternoon with Trey, gathering flowers that couldn’t possibly exist in her world. Some glowed under the shade of their own petals, others hummed when touched. She plucked a single blossom—a silver-and-indigo bloom that curled and unfurled with the rise and fall of her breath—and pressed it into an envelope. A piece of magic, something her mother and sister would never believe unless they held it in their hands.


    She’d told him, first. Trey, who always knew what to say, who always had a sage piece of advice for her, had said absolutely nothing.


    Later, however, he had evidently found the words to tell Riddle about what she was considering.


    Riddle found her in the library and delivered a scorching rant about her inexcusable habit of throwing herself into danger without a plan. She let him scold, let him fume, let him adjust her tie for the hundredth time before she interrupted with a quiet, “I’m going to miss this.”


    Riddle went stiff. He didn’t ask what she meant. He just straightened her collar perfectly and muttered, “...You’d better.”


    Unfortunately, Riddle’s rant wasn’t exactly quiet. The rest of Heartslabyul knew in the time it would take a wildfire to spread across a dry field. Of kerosene-barley.


    Ace and Deuce were terrible at pretending they didn’t know something.


    Which is why Ace took one look at her during the next Magical History class, leaned back in his chair, and loudly whispered to Deuce, “Hey, did you hear something? Kinda sounds like the footsteps of a girl who’s totally not hiding some big, dramatic secret.”


    Deuce, bless him, tried harder. He frowned and said, “That’s ridiculous, Ace. We don’t know anything about Yuu mysteriously vanishing for two days and then reappearing looking all weirdly sentimental and guilty. Or like she’s hiding anything. That would be nosy.”


    Ace nodded dramatically. “Right, right. And we’re not nosy.”


    They both nodded, looking like highwaymen who considered robbery the highest form of ‘restraint.’


    Yuu sighed and dropped her head on her desk. "You two are about as subtle as a screaming cauldron."


    Ace smirked. “Well, we do try. Sooooo, totally unrelated, but if you were off somewhere doing something crazy—”


    “—Like getting involved with a certain four-eyed businessman—” Deuce added helpfully.


    “And then finding a so-called way out of Twisted Wonderland that could leave you trapped or dead in a mirror because it’s never been tested—”


    “—And we wouldn’t have a way of knowing you’d gotten there safely, either—”


    Ace grimaced. “—Then we definitely wouldn’t pry, because we are polite gentlemen who would never make this situation any harder for you.”


    Deuce, looking like he had just remembered something very important, gasped. “Oh! And we definitely wouldn’t be, like, extremely worried about our friend or anything.”


    Ace clutched his chest. “Perish the thought! Because she would definitely tell us if she was about to make a very stupid, emotionally reckless decision, right?”


    Yuu groaned, shoving both of their faces away. “Is there more of this?”


    Ace shrugged, grinning. “We’ll stop when you tell us what we already know.”


    “Consider yourselves officially informed,” she said stiffly.


    They went politely quiet as the Pomfiore students trickled into the classroom, but somehow, that was worse.


    Pomfiore was painfully elegant about pretending they didn’t know. Unlike Ace and Deuce, who contained themselves about as well as lit powder kegs, Vil, Rook, and Epel managed to make the interaction with Yuu feel both completely normal and deeply scrutinized at the same time.


    Vil, for instance, greeted her with his usual poise but just happened to critique the puffiness under her eyes—


    "Sleep deprivation is simply unforgivable, trickster. What could be keeping you so distracted?"


    —as he adjusted an imaginary wrinkle in her sleeve. He never once said anything, but the way he said everything carried the weight of knowledge he wasn’t acknowledging.


    Rook was worse. If Ace and Deuce were cats playing with their food, Rook was a falcon that had already marked its prey. He hovered, greeting her with the most innocent, knowing smile.


    "Ah, mon cher mystère, the eyes of a hunter see all, but worry not—I shan''t disturb your private musings! The thrill of the chase, n''est-ce pas?"


    Epel, the least subtle, wavered between being too embarrassed to say anything and wanting to blurt out all his thoughts at once. He fidgeted. A lot. And whenever he opened his mouth, his words would start off normal—


    "Hey, Yuu, you look—uh—tired?"


    —only for his voice to crack into something high-pitched and guilty-sounding. When she squinted at him, he''d wave a hand dismissively. “N-Nothin’! Just sayin’ you should—uh—take care of yourself! That’s all! Nothin’ weird!”


    It was deeply weird.


    Pomfiore was, in essence, an entire theatrical performance of "we absolutely know but would never deign to say it"—except, in their own ways, they said it constantly, through furtive looks so deeply concerned that Yuu couldn’t wait to escape the classroom.


    She made the mistake of taking refuge at Savannaclaw. She’d intended to study. Hey, she always had the option of dipping out of this world before exams, but Grim would absolutely fail before next week if she didn’t take care of notes for them both—at least for now.


    But the moment she passed by Leona’s napping room, he cracked open an eye and sighed.


    “Tch. You’re brooding.”


    Yuu stopped, staring from the doorway at the pile of cushions he’d perched himself on.


    “I’m not brooding.”


    Leona gave her a look. “Yeah? You sure? ‘Cause you’ve got that ‘I’m about to do somethin’ dumb and emotional’ face.”


    Yuu scowled. “I don’t have a face like that.”


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He smirked, stretching his arms over his head. “You do. I see it on freshmen right before they confess to their crushes and then trip over their own feet.”


    She wanted to snap at him, but something about the way he said it—so casual, so not prying—made her hesitate. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t pushing. He was just… acknowledging.


    She walked away before he could get another smug comment in, but his lazy voice drifted after her:


    “Whatever dumb choice you make, own it.”


    Ruggie, on the other hand, was not as detached.


    Unlike Leona, who acted like Yuu’s crisis was just one more thing he had to deal with in life, Ruggie definitely wanted to say something. But saying something meant getting involved, and getting involved meant extra work, and extra work was not on Ruggie’s agenda.


    So instead, he just… watched.


    Which was worse.


    “Hey, Yuu,” he greeted her one morning, voice too casual. “You eaten today?”


    Yuu narrowed her eyes. “Yeah?”


    Ruggie hummed, as if considering something. Then he threw an arm around her shoulders and grinned.


    “Well, that’s good! ‘Cause if you hadn’t, I’d have to wonder what’s got you too distracted to remember to eat?” His voice was light, but the grip on her shoulder was firm.


    She knew what he was doing. She wasn’t playing along.


    “Gee, Ruggie, what could possibly be distracting me?” she deadpanned.


    “Ohhh, I dunno!” he sing-songed. “Just makin’ sure my favorite magicless human isn’t running off and leaving me with all these irresponsible jerks.” His grin widened. “I mean, that’d be kinda cruel, don’tcha think?”


    Yuu squirmed out of his grip. “I’m not—”


    But Ruggie just winked.


    “Good talk,” he said, voice chipper. Then, before she could protest, he shoved a plate of snacks into her arms, snatched a pastry from her plate and bolted, waving over his shoulder. “Oh, and don’t worry! Whatever ya choose, I won’t hold it against ya! …Much!”


    Yuu groaned, head in hands.


    Great. So Leona gave her cryptic life advice, and Ruggie resorted to guilt-tripping with snacks.


    So, she went back home to Ramshackle, and began to write again. She hadn’t even made a decision yet, and everyone here was acting like she was dying, but at the same time, if she couldn’t get some sort of proof that her family had gotten her messages, then she would have to go back in person. It would be cruel not to.


    Her family had lost so much…so she could give them something back. Technically, she could have already….and now, she was only hesitating to make sure that she’d done right by the people who had taken care of her for so long. That was all.


    The first time she had left a world hadn’t been her choice, as far as she knew. This time would be. This time she wouldn’t just vanish without a trace. She had the luxury this time of preparing the people she cared about before it happened.


    So, in lieu of her delay, she wrote home again. She included everything—her handwriting shaky, the ink smudged in places. She wrote about the impossible school, the ridiculous people, the magic that made her laugh, the dangers that had nearly stolen her life, and the friendships that had saved it.


    She tucked proof inside: The enchanted flower from the garden, its petals shifting between colors that didn’t exist in nature. A golden dorm pin from NRC, engraved with its crest, something that couldn’t possibly belong in their world. A single playing card from Ace and Deuce’s last game, signed on the back: "Miss us too much and we''ll haunt you."


    Then, she left to send that one with the most powerful guarantee she could find.Not through the school. Not through Crowley. But through Malleus Draconia.


    Malleus met her in the dark mirror chamber—a place she had never been allowed to enter alone as a student, but no one ever said ‘no,’ to Malleus.


    Together, they approached the mirror, the eerie quiet of the room only punctuated by the hum of magic. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with arcane tomes and curiosities that didn’t bear thinking about. Malleus stood next to her, his large frame casting an imposing shadow in the dim light. The Dark Mirror loomed before them, a glassy surface of swirling black and violet hues that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.


    "Here we are," Malleus said softly, his voice steady yet laced with a hint of caution. "If the others haven’t worked, I believe this is the only way that will allow your letter to reach your world."


    Yuu took a deep breath, eyes locking onto the mirror’s dark surface.


    "Mirror," she said, her voice wavering slightly but gaining strength. "I need to send something home. A letter. It has to reach them.


    The mirror shifted slightly, as if the surface rippled, just the faintest suggestion of reluctance. It wasn’t used to being bargained with. It had its own laws. Its own rules. Once more, it refused to respond to her.


    Malleus stepped forward, his hand outstretched, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.


    "Mirror, you have heard her plea," he spoke with a subtle command, his tone carrying the weight of someone who knew how to handle this. "Her world deserves proof of her existence here—proof that she lives."


    The mirror hesitated, its surface darkening as if considering the words. Yuu swallowed hard.


    "I don’t think it’s going to work, Malleus," Yuu said softly, almost to herself. "It doesn’t want me to send anything."


    She felt a weight in her chest, the doubt creeping back in. What if this was the final barrier between her and leaving? What if the mirror decided she wasn’t worth the effort?


    Malleus looked at her, his eyes softening for a moment. "It is not the mirror that you need to convince, Yuu," he said with a knowing look. "It is its sense of purpose. I will aid you. Let me speak with it."


    Yuu stepped back, surprised. She watched as Malleus turned to the mirror, his posture shifting as he stood taller, commanding the full attention of the dark glass. His voice became a low murmur, but the power behind it was undeniable.


    "Mirror of the Void, hear my request. You have seen her heart’s turmoil, her desire to return, yet also the weight of her family’s love. You will grant this request—for the sake of her journey and the path that awaits."


    The mirror rippled again, a wave of blackness moving through it like water over stone. It seemed to be pondering, considering the request with quiet resistance. Yuu held her breath, her hands tightly gripping the edges of her jacket. Then, finally, the voice came. Not from Malleus, not from anyone she could see—but from the mirror itself, a low, unsettling voice that spoke directly into her mind.


    "You seek to escape."


    Yuu shuddered. Her mind scrambled for the right words. “I’m not escaping. I have a way to return home, Mirror. The memories you hid from me are back. But I will stay, a little longer, if you can send this letter to my home—my original home.”


    There was a brief silence. The darkness in the mirror pulsed, like a slow, beating heart.


    "I will not do this for nothing," it replied.


    Yuu glanced up at Malleus, who was still standing with a quiet, almost regal composure. "It wants something in return," she muttered, frustration creeping in.


    Malleus tilted his head. "Perhaps you can offer the mirror something it desires—a promise of return, a pledge of your own heart’s allegiance."


    But, Yuu was tired of the mirror and its shoddy replies.


    "You’re right. You don’t have to do this for nothing," she said firmly, glaring at the face that simmered beneath the mirror’s surface. "But if you help me, if you send my letter… I’ll stay. I’ll stay at least a few more days. You’ll guarantee that I’ll stay until I finish what I came here to do." She paused, feeling the weight of her own words. "You will do this, not for nothing, but for everything I have already done. You have stolen from me, mirror. I have been present for every one of your students’ overblots. I have scars and damage and marks from helping them to heal. I demand this very small favor in exchange. And if you want me to stay for longer, I demand proof that it arrived, and proof that my family no longer suffers.”


    The mirror was silent for a moment, and then its voice spoke again, slower this time, as if deliberating on her request.


    Malleus was regarding her with his usual mix of amusement and questioning her sanity. She thought that he would continue his argument, but he did not. In fact, ever since his overblot, Malleus had before more calm around every kind of change. He was allowing this, far better than the others had.


    "I will allow it."


    Yuu’s heart skipped a beat.


    "But," the mirror continued with a slightly chilling undertone, "only if you fulfill your end of the bargain."


    Yuu nodded, her heart racing. “A few more days, mirror. That is all I promise.”


    “Hmmm….” the mirror seemed to deliberate again, as if unsure. As if wondering if it should bargain for more, but they both knew that for now, with the limited ‘gifts’ it had provided for, it did not yet have that leverage.


    The darkness in the mirror shifted once again, and Yuu could feel something—a pull, a connection between her world and this one, a slight shift in the air.


    The letter in her hand floated from her fingers, pulled through the shimmering glass of the mirror. Malleus placed a hand on her shoulder.


    “It is done,” he said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Now you have both the assurance of your return... and the mirror’s assurance the letter will arrive."


    Yuu felt a strange mixture of relief and trepidation.


    “Thank you, Malleus. I don’t know if that would have happened without you.”


    “Perhaps, perhaps not…. I take it you would like some time? Although, if I may, I doubt that proof of your letter’s arrival will come today. You may have to wait days…weeks?”


    It was the first time Malleus had tried to persuade her to stay—if only for a little longer.


    “I won’t wait weeks,” Yuu promised him, a little sadly. “If I don’t see proof of the letter having arrived, then I’ll be leaving in a few days at most. After all, we did have a deal…”


    She glared at the mirror, now black and unresponsive once more.


    Malleus smiled sadly. “You are a woman of your word, Yuu. That I trust.”


    Then, nodding to her fondly, he left her in the mirror chamber, understanding that she wasn’t quite ready to give up watching.


    She had people on the other side of that mirror. Had they survived without her? And if they had, three years had passed in her world—three years where they had learned to wake up, eat, sleep, and carry on without her. What would it be like to step back into that life? Time had changed her. Twisted Wonderland had changed her. When she walked through that door at last, would she be a stranger to them—a ghost wearing her own skin?


    Before her memories had returned, she had always imagined home as a static thing, waiting for her return. But it wouldn’t be the same, and neither would she.


    She had no diploma, no job, no place in the world she left behind. She would have to rebuild her life from the ground up—find work, make friends again, figure out where she fit.


    And if she stayed here? She would still be rebuilding—still carving out a future of her own just as Mallory had done. No matter what world she chose, there was no going back to what once was.


    The realization settled in her chest like an anchor. She had always thought of this as a choice between leaving and staying. But it wasn’t that simple. She wasn’t choosing between two lives—she was choosing which one to begin again. Knowing this, and knowing the family that waited for her on the other side, she stared into the black depths of the unresponsive mirror. She’d learned long ago that she couldn’t trust it. That it didn’t have her best interest at heart. Every day could be a way for it to find out how to hide her memories from her again.


    Entirely alone in the mirror room, now with nothing stopping her from going back, she took a twitchy step forward.