Chapter 67 Jax and Zara - Moving Forward (Zara POV)
I wake up gasping, magic manifesting involuntarily around my hands. Ice crystallizing on the bedsheets. Fire flickering along my fingertips. Wind rattling the windows.
Raw elemental chaos responding to nightmare-fueled panic.
"Zara." Jax's voice from the doorway. He's been sleeping in the common room, giving me space but staying close enough to respond when the nightmares hit. "Same one?"
"Same one." I force the magic down, suppressing the chaotic manifestation. "Sorry. I'm trying to control it."
"Don't apologize." He comes in, sitting on the edge of my bed but not touching. Learned that lesson… sometimes I need contact, sometimes I need space, and grabbing me during a nightmare triggers defensive magic. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"It's just the shield failing. Students dying. The usual."
"That's not 'just' anything. That's trauma."
"I know it's trauma. Doesn't make it easier to process."
"You need to talk to someone," Jax says finally. "Someone who actually knows how to help with this. I don't. I'm trying, but I don't know what you need."
"I need Isabel. But she's dead." My voice cracks. "She'd know what to say. She'd have exercises or meditation or something useful. Instead I'm having nightmares and manifesting chaos magic when I sleep."
"Then talk to the new professor. The one the Underground Network sent."
Professor Keating arrived two days ago. Older witch, experienced in combat magic and trauma, sent by the Underground Network to replace Isabel and help students process what happened.
I've been avoiding her. Don't want a replacement. Don't want to admit Isabel's gone.
"She's not Isabel."
"No. She's not. But she's here, and she's trained in helping people with magical trauma." Jax's voice is gentle but firm. "You're not sleeping. You're suppressing grief instead of processing it. You're having involuntary manifestations. Zara, you need help."
"I'll talk to Professor Keating," I say finally. "Tomorrow."
"Good." He stands, heading back toward the door. "Try to get some sleep. I'll be in the common room if you need me."
He leaves. I lie back down, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the nightmare waiting when I close my eyes.
Professor Keating's office is in what used to be Isabel's space. They've removed her belongings, replaced her furniture, cleared out decades of accumulated research.
It feels wrong. Empty. Like erasing her.
"Zara Okonkwo," Professor Keating greets me. She's maybe fifty, grey hair pulled back severely, eyes that suggest she's seen worse than Silvercrest's recent trauma. "I'm glad you came. I've been hoping we could talk."
"Jax insisted."
"Smart boyfriend. Or is it mate? I understand the terminology varies."
"Mate. Werewolf bond. It's complicated."
"Most supernatural relationships are." She gestures to a chair. "Sit. Tell me what's happening."
I sit reluctantly. "Nightmares. Involuntary manifestations. The usual post-traumatic stress."
"There's no 'usual' about trauma. What are the nightmares about?"
"Isabel's shield failing. Students dying. My magic not being enough to save them."
"But in reality, the shield held. Isabel maintained it until students evacuated. She died protecting them successfully."
"I know that intellectually. Doesn't stop the nightmares."
Professor Keating is quiet for a moment, studying me. "You're not just grieving Isabel. You're carrying survivor's guilt. Feeling like you should have saved her somehow."
"I should have. I tried to heal her but she pushed me away. Told me not to waste power. Then she just... disintegrated."
"She chose to break her binding oath. Chose to die maintaining that shield. Do you understand what that means?"
"It means she valued students over her own life."
"It means she made a choice. Agency. Autonomy. The same things you fight for in your magic practice." Professor Keating leans forward. "Isabel chose her death. You don't dishonor that by surviving. You dishonor it by not living fully."
The words hit harder than expected. "What?"
"Survivor's guilt often manifests as self-punishment. Not sleeping. Suppressing grief. Avoiding life because others died. But Isabel didn't die so you could torture yourself. She died so students could live. That includes you."
"I'm trying to live. I'm here. I'm functional."
"You're performing functionality. There's a difference." She pulls out a journal… not Isabel's, something new. "Isabel left extensive notes about your training. She knew she might not survive Victoria's crusade. Made provisions for whoever would continue teaching you."
"She... she knew?"
"She wrote this six months ago. Updated it regularly." Professor Keating opens the journal, showing me Isabel's precise handwriting. "She documented your progress, your challenges, her teaching methods. And she left specific instructions for helping you process grief if she died."
I can't speak. Can't process that Isabel planned for this. Prepared for her own death and made sure I'd have support afterward.
"She wrote: 'Zara will blame herself. She'll carry guilt for not saving me. She needs to understand that my death is my choice, not her failure. Help her see that living fully honors my sacrifice better than self-punishment.'"
Tears are falling before I realize I'm crying. "She knew I'd do this. Knew I'd spiral."
"She knew you. Loved you. Wanted to protect you even after death." Professor Keating closes the journal. "So here's what we're going to do. We're going to process this grief properly. No suppression. No performing functionality. Actual healing."
"How?"
"We start by accepting that Isabel's death was her choice. Not your failure. Not something you could have prevented. Her choice to save students." She meets my eyes. "Can you accept that?"
"I... I don't know. It feels like I should have done more."
"Of course it does. That's grief talking. The feeling that if we'd just tried harder, been better, done something different, the person we love would still be alive." Her voice is gentle. "But Zara, Isabel broke a binding oath. The magical backlash from that is unsurvivable. Even if you'd tried to heal her, the oath would have consumed you too. She pushed you away to save your life."
"So I'm alive because she died protecting me."
"You're alive because she loved you enough to choose your survival over hers. That's not debt. That's gift."
"It hurts," I manage finally. "Missing her hurts so much."
"It should hurt. She mattered. Love doesn't end just because someone dies. Neither does grief." She hands me tissues. "But grief is meant to be felt, not suppressed. You honor Isabel by feeling the loss fully and then continuing to live."
"How do I do that? How do I live fully when she's gone?"
"One day at a time. One choice at a time. One moment of actually engaging with life instead of just performing survival."
I leave her office.
Jax is waiting in the hallway. "How'd it go?"
"Hard. Necessary. Isabel left me her magical archive and instructions for processing grief."
"She planned ahead."
"She always did." I lean against him, letting the mate bond carry comfort I couldn't accept earlier. "I'm sorry. For being distant. For not letting you help."
"You weren't ready. That's okay." He wraps an arm around me. "Are you ready now?"
"I'm getting there. Professor Keating says I need to actually feel grief instead of suppressing it. Stop performing functionality and actually engage with life."
"What does that look like?"
"I don't know yet. But I think it starts with talking. Actually talking instead of just saying I'm fine."
We find a quiet corner in the library. Sit together in the space where I used to study with Isabel.
"I'm not fine," I say. "I'm traumatized and grieving and scared that I'm going to lose everyone I care about. I'm having nightmares where I fail to protect people. I'm manifesting chaos magic in my sleep. And I feel guilty for being alive when Isabel died saving me."
"Okay." Jax takes my hand. "What do you need?"
"I need you to understand I'm going to be broken for a while. Not performing functionality. Actually broken. And that's okay because grief is supposed to hurt."
"I can do that."
"And I need you to know that mate bond doesn't fix this. You being here helps, but it doesn't erase the trauma. This is going to take time."
"I know. Tyler's death taught me that." He's quiet for a moment. "I'm broken too. Lost my pack brother. Nearly lost you. Watched students die. I'm having nightmares where I can't protect pack. Where I fail as alpha."
"We're both a mess."
"Yeah. But we're a mess together." He squeezes my hand gently. "What else do you need?"
"I need to talk about the future. About what happens after Silvercrest. Because I can't just exist in crisis mode forever. I need something to work toward."
"What do you want to do? After graduation?"
I think about it. Really think instead of just reacting. "I want to be a journalist. Expose supernatural-human conflicts. Advocate for understanding instead of fear. Tell stories that matter."
"That's ambitious."
"Isabel spent decades teaching magic. She mattered because she helped students understand themselves. I want to matter by helping people understand each other." I meet his eyes. "What about you? What do you want?"
"I want to rebuild my pack. Create sanctuary for young werewolves who don't have safe spaces. Teach them that pack means protection, not violence." He's been thinking about this too. "Tyler and Finn died because ancient vampires treated young werewolves like obstacles. I want to change that. Make sure young wolves have support."
"So you want to be a teacher. Like Isabel but for werewolves."
"I guess I do." He smiles slightly. "We both want to build things that matter. Help people who need support."
"Can we do both? You rebuilding pack, me being a journalist?"
"I think we have to. We can't just enmesh our entire lives. That's not healthy." Jax is watching me carefully. "We can do both. Together but not enmeshed."
"Together but as independent people who choose each other daily."
"Exactly. Mate bond doesn't mean losing individuality. It means choosing to build lives that work alongside each other."
I feel something loosen in my chest. Hope, maybe. Or just relief that the future isn't just endless grief and trauma.
"I like that. Having separate purposes that complement each other instead of one shared purpose that consumes everything."
"Me too." He's quiet for a moment. "So how do we get there? From broken and traumatized to actually building those lives?"