“I mean,” I say, soft but fierce, “you’re wrong. The Grove isn’t dormant. It’s grieving.”
He studies me for a moment too long. “I’ve heard people project onto elemental sites before. You’re clearly attached. But feelings don’t equal magical saturation. If the readings stay this low, it opens up a lot of options.”
Rage rises in me, slow and hot.
“I don’t think yougetwhat this place is,” I whisper.
He scribbles something on his clipboard. “We’ll see.”
And just like that, he turns and walks off.
I stand there alone, heart hammering, fingers curled so tight around my bag strap they go numb.
Something has to be done.
I don’t care if Thorn’s hiding.
Ineedhim now.
I don’t waste time.
That night, I gather everything I’ve got—soil reports, species lists, seasonal bloom records. I even tape my sketches along the cabin wall, each one labeled in my shaky, pencil-scrawled handwriting.
I stay up until dawn organizing it into a binder. Not just a presentation—aplea.
When I show up at the inspector’s little pop-up tent the next morning, Eliorin Vask looks genuinely startled.
“I ran a multi-tier analysis,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Here. Soil nutrient data before and after Grove interaction. Biological diversity plotted across the last threeyears. This isn't a ‘low-frequency’ zone, it’s arecovering ecosystem. You’re misreading the quiet.”
He takes the binder from me.
Flips it open.
Skims.
Closes it again.
“Well documented,” he says, polite as glass. “But ultimately, these aren’t binding indicators. Without active magical registration from the Grove itself—or a bonded guardian—these stats don’t meet the minimum criteria for exemption.”
“But itisbonded,” I snap. “You just don’tseehim.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You mean the rumored sentinel? That’s unconfirmed. No documented sighting since the Rift era.”
My breath shakes. “He’sreal.”
He offers me a practiced, bureaucratic smile. “If he wishes to submit a formal declaration of presence, I’ll include it in the file. But your personal attachment doesn’t qualify as a magical defense.”
I watch as he sets the binder aside like it weighs nothing.
Likeeverythinginside it doesn’t matter.
I won’t win this with logic.
I won’t save the Grove with bar graphs and citations.
I needhim.
I need Thorn.
