Four days since I felt the breath of the Grove rise up to meet me.
Now, the glade is still.
Even the vines feel reluctant, curling in on themselves like they’re waiting for something they don’t believe is coming. I’ve left offerings. Spoke to the roots. Sat for hours, sketching and whispering.
But nothing stirs.
And I feel it in my bones—that old ache of being left behind.
So when Julie flags me down outside the main cabin, clipboard in hand and concern tightening her usually-sunny face, I’m already brittle.
“We’ve got company,” she says. “Magic Board sent someone.”
I blink. “Why?”
Julie sighs, brushing wind-tangled curls from her face. “They’re doing a seasonal re-evaluation. New township expansion proposals triggered a site review.”
“Wait—rezone?”
Julie grimaces. “Technically, yeah. They’re checking boundaries. Assessing land-use viability. The whole nine bureaucratic yards.”
“Here?”
Her voice drops. “The Grove.”
My chest seizes.
Julie puts a hand on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t panic just yet. They haven’t made any rulings. But they sent an inspector today. You’ll want to meet him.”
I donotwant to meet him.
But I follow her anyway.
The inspector is already near the ward line, kneeling by the old boundary markers like they’re just cracked rocks and not ancient magic stones pulsing faintly with energy. He’s tall, mid-thirties maybe, with a clipboard of his own and enchanted glasses perched on a narrow nose.
When he looks up, his eyes gleam blue—a charm flicker.
“Ah, you must be the garden lead,” he says.
“Clara Monroe,” I say, voice cautious.
“Eliorin Vask,” he replies crisply, standing. “Magical Environmental Board, rural site division. Don’t worry—this is a standard procedural survey.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I lie.
He smiles politely. “Camp Director says you’ve spent the most time near the Grove?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you’ll understand the need for objective assessment. Our town’s growth plans include trail expansion and seasonal lodge zoning. If the Grove’s borders are flexible, there’s potential to reclassify part of the outer ring for public use.”
My throat goes dry. “That’s not… it’s notflexible.”
He frowns slightly. “Well, magical zones do shift based on active energy signatures. I’m detecting a low frequency here. Diminished output. That often signals a dormant site—possibly ready for controlled conversion.”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow.
