That night I went looking for it deliberately.
Thessaly had spent the afternoon teaching me the difference between falling into the In Between, which was what had been happening involuntarily, and choosing it, which required a specific type of focused stillness that was less like meditation and more like holding a door open from the inside. You did not push through. You simply stopped pushing away.
I sat on my bedroom floor at midnight with my back against the cold stone wall and my hands loose in my lap and I stopped pushing away.
The In Between arrived the way dawn arrives: not all at once, not dramatically, but incrementally, the edges of the room going soft and silver, the candlelight taking on that particular pale quality, the sound of the castle fading to a murmur and then to the
