Rush grabs the paper, and her long brown hair swishes against the desk as she writes. Everyone’s eyes stick to her. That’s the power of being the quiet one. When Rush is finally ready to talk, the Grays listen.

She pushes the paper forward.

I’ve got a way to get us out. If it doesn’t work, I might be in bigger trouble.

Danny scowls at the paper. Hawthorn is unwilling to sacrifice one of the Grays, even if it’s just to more detention. They need to stay together. It’s one of the only things keeping them safe. Witches are always in greater danger when they work alone.

But they don’t have anything else.

Rush opens her mouth and starts singing. The sound rises, smudged and warm as smoke from a chimney. And suddenly the room that was soaked in October sunlight becomes even warmer, the air wrapping around them like a blanket.

“Last warning,” the teacher says. “No talking.”

“With all due respect, Rush isn’t talking,” Lelia says.

Rush’s voice fills the air as the teacher turns back to her. Ms. Lefevre’s neck wilts. Phones drop to the linoleum as the muscles of the students go slack. Eyes closed, breath slow.

Rush picks up the bag of Imogen’s spell makings from the center of the circle, careful not to break anything as bottles slide and settle. Rush knows they don’t have much time. She crouches in front of Danny’s desk to wake her.

Danny doesn’t look peaceful even when she’s sleeping. It hurts Rush to see her like this, eyes tracking behind her closed lids as if someone is chasing her through a dream.

“Danny,” Rush whispers, and her mouth fills with a tousle of ripe flavors. Strawberry, lemon, mint.

It’s dangerous, how good that tastes.

She can’t bear to say Danny’s name again, to think she might get to keep it. Rush didn’t want to tell Danny about Imogen and Emma — not because she was scared to be honest with Danny about the feelings she’d had for Imogen. It was more a wretched attempt to avoid remembering how Imogen didn’t feel about her. How easy Rush was to move on from.

She flutters a hand on Danny’s shoulder. If she lets herself touch Danny with pressure and purpose, she might not be able to stop.

Danny’s breath slices in half, quarter notes to eighth notes.

She wakes up with the heavy work of dark-brown lashes and touches her mouth, confused. Does she think Rush had to kiss her to wake her up? Her lips are glossy, smooth, unkissed.

Rush says, “Let’s go.”

Danny: Now

When the mother tree comes into sight in all of its rotting, life-giving glory, Hawthorn dumps out the bag.