The Grove is closed. Sealed after the Rift Summer. Julie knows this. Ryder enforces it. The others keep their distance, even that mouthy redhead with her saltfire aura.
So why isthis oneallowed?
She hums again, head tilted as she works, easing weeds from the soil like they matter. Like they’re worthy of gentleness. Her fingers are careful, not because she’s afraid, but because she’s listening.
And still, I do not trust her.
My kind learns early, humans mean flames or contracts. They do not come here without strings attached.
I step closer. The shadows lean into me.
And then she touches the vine.
The one near the boundary.
The ward line pulses, faint and sharp, like a tooth cracking. The vine flinches under her hand. I brace for a scream, for panic, for her to rip it loose or pull away and run.
But she doesn't.
She stays. Eyes wide, lips parted, but she doesn’t flinch. Her hand lingers a second too long before she murmurs something I can’t hear.
The Grove listens. So do I.
“Hello?” she calls out.
My muscles tense.
She’s not screaming. That’s worse.
She’s curious.
A human withcuriosityis ten times more dangerous than one with fear.
I shift my weight. Moss coils up my leg, urging patience. I exhale through my nose, the air warm and damp from the tree’s breath. Her aura flickers—non-magical, but… not empty. Resonant. Like a tuning fork that’s just been struck.
That shouldn't be possible.
The last human who made the Grove tremble wore blood-red robes and carved a path of fire through the elder thicket. He died screaming between my hands.
This one? She hums to weeds.
“Back off, Thorn,” I murmur to myself.
But I don’t.
She straightens up when the wind shifts, clutching her clipboard like a shield. Her eyes scan the treeline. They pass right over me.
I let the shadows thicken.
If she steps one foot farther into the Grove proper, I’ll stop her. Not to harm. Just to warn.…probably.
I sense movement. Familiar.
Ryder.
The fish brute sloshes out of the mist near the eastern trail, half-drenched and already scowling.
Good.
