The petals drifting gently around Hazel’s boots.
At the sacred tree pulsing with slow, golden breath.
And then, with a visible swallow, he removes his charm glasses.
“This… was not in the initial survey,” Eliorin says, voice low.
Julie crosses her arms. “Because you weren’tlooking.”
He scans the clearing again, slower this time. More human. Less clinical.
Callie steps forward, extending a copy of my restoration plan—neatly annotated, complete with integration overlays, projected biodiversity outcomes, and a record of magical evolution over the past six weeks.
“This isn’t a zone to be converted,” she says. “It’s a sanctuary redefining itself.”
The inspector flips through it, brows drawn tight.
Hazel leans in, grinning. “Say it with me: ‘I was wrong.’”
He ignores her, of course. But after a pause, he clicks his pen closed and tucks his papers under one arm.
“I’ll update the board,” he says finally. “This site qualifies for sacred designation under clause thirteen-point-d.”
I nearly forget to breathe.
He nods once, curt. Then turns.
And walks away.
No argument or power play.
Just retreat.
And as he steps beyond the Grove’s ring, a soft wind stirs the trees—like the forest itself is exhaling relief.
I glance toward the sacred tree.
And I swear, for just a second, itsmiles.
The crowd thins.
Julie claps me on the back, Hazel vanishes to go hex a vending machine, and Callie’s already explaining root bonding to a curious reporter from theArcane Daily.
Then a council liaison, a woman in crisp robes with a clipboard enchanted to float beside her—approaches me.
“Miss Monroe,” she says, formal. “Given your contributions and the Grove’s newly reclassified designation, the board would like to offer you official stewardship. Full magical and ecological authority.”
I blink.
“Me?”
She smiles. “You’re the reason this place still stands.”
The words hit me harder than I expect.
I glance toward the Grove.
And Thorn is there.
