That night, I lie awake.
The cabin is quiet—just the occasional chirp of insects and the soft whirr of the fan by my bed. But inside me? Nothing’s still.
I should be asleep. Iwantto be asleep. But every time I close my eyes, I see him—those dark, knowing eyes, the moss on hisshoulders, the way his laugh curled through the trees like it had been waiting years to be let out.
Thorn.
Thorn, who is made of roots and stone and old things I don’t understand.
Thorn, who listens like silence is sacred and looks at me like I’ve done something impossible just by staying.
I pull my blanket up to my chin and whisper into the dark, “What the hell are we doing?”
He’s not even human.
But he’sreal.
More real than most people I’ve met.
And when I’m with him, the ache in my chest quiets. The anxious buzz fades. I feel like I’m standing still in a world that won’t stop spinning.
I sigh, rolling over.
This is ridiculous.
He’s a forest sentinel.
I’m a glorified gardener with a love of mulch and boundary issues.
But still…
I can’t stop thinking about him.
And I’m not sure I want to.
CHAPTER 12
THORN
Something's wrong.
The Grove alerts me before I see it—roots pulling tight, air thinning like breath before a scream. It’s there in my chest, just beneath the ribs, where my bond with the ward tree sits like a second heartbeat.
Someone’s crossed a line.
I don’t wait.
I move.
The air blurs around me as I shift through the shade, trees bending gently aside. The southern perimeter, near the collapsed runestone arch—that’s where the breach is. It was always weak there. Too many feet have tread near without respect.
When I reach it, the barrier is cracked.
Thin blue light flickers along the invisible line, sparking like nerves misfiring. And on the wrong side of it, flailing in the ferns, is a boy. Small. Pale. Reeking of borrowed magic.
He’s on his hands and knees, eyes wide, one hand still gripping a wand too big for his frame.
“Back,” I growl.
