“Isn’t that proof?” Henry put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. Coaxed Theo into leaning against him. Deeply disliked how quiet Theo was, how frighteningly pliant. “That’s not enough?”
“No,” Phoebe said, “because at the moment it’s one lunatic, and that’s a good explanation, and you did the College a service by finding him before he completely snapped and did something worse. And the two of you have been under a lot of strain—you, Captain, have been suffering from your injury, I’m told, not to mention your service in the war—and Theo’s not an expert in oneiromancy, and it is not only possible but probable that you’re both seeing a conspiracy that simply doesn’t exist. The War is over. This is England. We’re attempting to rebuild the ranks of English magic, not cast doubt upon ourselves. Am I bei
