Their first exams came to an end, both girls tired, exhausted even when they were over. Glinda knew Elphaba had passed with flying colors, of course she had, but the exhaustion on her roommate's face made her question if it was worth it.

She knew Elphaba wasn't sleeping. Knew she spent her nights laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts churning through her brain. Knew that when she thought Glinda was sleeping, Elphaba would slip out for hours, not returning until dawn barely peeked through the window of their dorm room. On those nights, Glinda lay awake on her side, mumbling what few incantations she knew, hoping to protect her, save her from whatever threats she was facing.

She had fallen into a dreamy sort of half-sleep when the door to their room creaked open and Elphaba came in, smelling of winter and smoke, twigs tangled in that long black hair. In the light coming in from the hallway she looked like some sort of nymph, some sort of rumored forest creature, half-human, half-spirit.

She looked beautiful, wild, and Glinda wished she were still asleep, because at least then it wouldn't hurt so much.

"Elphaba?" she said, sitting up as Elphaba closed the door. If Elphaba was surprised Glinda wasn't asleep she made no note of it, just sighed and turned her attention to her roommate.

"Go to sleep, love," she said.

The sentiment was like a barb in Glinda's heart. "Where were you?" she asked. "You look—"

"I was out," Elphaba said dismissively. "The less you know, the better."

"That's not fair," Glinda said, the old fight settling in her bones, the weight of it almost a comfort. "I told you I want to be involved. You can't shut me out like this."

"Oh? Watch me," Elphaba said, her voice almost cruel. She turned her back to Glinda and began removing her cloak, the heavy fabric dark enough she blended in with the shadows in their room. Glinda reached and turned on the bedside lamp, but Elphaba hissed, "No. I don't want her to know we're awake."

"Elphie…" Glinda said, but her voice was full of doubt. She knew Elphaba was right, knew Morrible could be watching them at any time.

Glinda pushed her covers back and went over to her roommate, taking the cloak from her. Up close Elphaba smelled even more like smoke. The urge to kiss her, to smooth the worry lines away from her face, was overwhelming.

Almost as if she could sense what Glinda was thinking, Elphaba turned her head away.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Glinda whispered. The dark made her feel braver, more vulnerable. "You could let me in. We could do this together, you know. I'm… I'm not going anywhere."

She reached down and twined her fingers through Elphaba's slender ones, almost holding her breath. This, this was the moment she had been waiting for. Any minute now…

"You're not the one I'm worried about leaving," Elphaba said, and tugged her hand away gently.

It hurt more than if she'd wrenched away, and Glinda knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that Elphaba truly meant it. That she couldn't keep trying with these stolen moments with her. That as long as she was involved in their quest, Elphaba would keep throwing those walls up, keep her at arm's length, because she truly believed it was safer.

Glinda wondered what it would take to make her realize it wasn't.

She slipped out again the next night once she was sure Glinda was asleep, not wanting a repeat of the night before. She could still feel Glinda's fingers ghosting through her own, her nearness, the smell of her so close, and it made her want to double over in pain. It hurt worse than water, worse because she knew she was doing it to herself, that she was the one pushing her away.

"It's better this way," she whispered to herself as she crossed the grounds, sticking to walled and treed areas until she reached the edge of the Suicide Canal. "It is."

But she didn't believe it.

Her skin prickled. She felt she was being watched. And perhaps she was, perhaps the trees themselves were leaning in to see her.

"Hello?" she whispered. No one was supposed to meet her until later, but she'd had to get away while Glinda was still asleep.

But there was no sound.

She made her way along the canal bank, to the wrought-iron bars that encased the school grounds, murmuring öffnen as she reached the two bars she wished to slip through, marveling at how they opened with ease.

It was true what she'd said to Glinda—that Glinda was better at magic, would be a better sorceress. But that didn't mean Elphaba hadn't been reading up in her own time about spells and conjurings, how to whisper the right combination of old language to get your way. How old Kumbric Witch followers had claimed the tongue alone would make things happen for them, how one didn't need to channel magic through an object, one simply had to want hard enough.

And if there was anything Elphaba Thropp knew about, it was wanting.

She pressed herself against the trunk of a tree, the bark rough against her back, blending in with the shadows behind her.

"Hello?" she called again, but there was no answer.

And then—a rustling near the edge of the woods, and Elphaba stiffened.

She thought she saw a flash of metal, bronze glinting in the light from a faraway streetlamp, and her heart began to race. That dreadful tiktok thing of Morrible's, if it found her here…

"Come with me."

The voice was as rough as the hand on her wrist and Elphaba found herself being pulled, suddenly, deeper into the forest than she had dared to go before. She fought the instinctual urge to wrench away, to run, because somewhere in her mind she knew that whoever was pulling her was safer to be near than Grommetik.

The person pulled her quickly so branches whipped against her skin, and she was grateful for the cloak around her face that shielded the worst of the blows.

They stopped in the middle of the clearing. Elphaba was panting, out of breath, the sweat that had begun to form on her skin stinging in the night air.

"Are you who I'm supposed to meet?" she asked, but the figure, cloaked much like Elphaba, held a finger up to their lips.

"Wait," they said, and then murmured something in an old, forgotten language. If Elphaba squinted, she could see the faint shimmer of magic in the air, encircling them.

The figure lowered their hood and turned to her once the spell was complete. She was an old woman, ancient, lines covering her craggy face like so many mountains and valleys. She looked at Elphaba as if she could see right through her, as if she had known her for a very, very long time.

"Who are you?" Elphaba asked, but the figure shook her head as if to say Not yet.

"You will learn," the woman said. "For now, consider me a friend."

"My friends don't drag me through the woods in the middle of the night." Elphaba said.

"Your friends take care of you, as I do," the woman said, and Elphaba frowned deeper.

"Who are you?" She asked again.

"I am someone who wants to take down the Wizard. I am someone who has a common enemy with you, who has seen too long what regimes of men have done to Oz. And I am here to help."

Elphaba felt dizzy, her head spinning. She closed her eyes against the sensation, and when she opened them again, she was back in the courtyard, hurrying towards her dorm, the woods at her back.

She didn't remember. If she tried, she couldn't. She remembered the woman but couldn't recall her features, could only recall the deep, burning desire in her to do something, to be part of something.

She slipped into her room quietly and grabbed what little of Dillamond's research there was, along with her own notes, and locked herself in the bathroom, not daring to turn on a light in case Glinda began to ask questions.

She pored over the documents, looking for clues, looking for anything she could use to take down the Wizard.

And when the sun rose and Glinda opened the door, she saw her roommate curled up on the floor, her glasses askew, papers strewn around her and nowhere near closer to finding the answers she needed.