The moment hangs between us. Thorn brushes a strand of hair from my face, his eyes full of unspoken promises. "Neither do I."
CHAPTER 26
THORN
The Grove hums with warning before I hear the scream.
It's faint, carried on wind, tangled in the rustle of leaves—but it’s there.
Young.
Panicked.
Too deep in the southeastern corridor of the old growth.
I’m moving before I think, before I even register that I’ve moved. The forest opens for me—vines curling back, bark whispering warnings along the rootline. The air sharpens as I pass, every tree leaning in as if pointing the way.
Someone’s lost.
And not just lost.
The Groveknowswhen a threat enters.
But this isn’t that.
This is fear without malice.
Confusion, not cruelty.
And the Grove calls me to answer.
When I reach the clearing, the scent hits first—burned ozone and raw sap. Someone cast recklessly here. Poor control. Overloaded intent. The magic hangs in the air like static just before a storm.
“Help!”
The voice again, closer this time.
I spot the caster crouched at the edge of a thorn bush, trapped by her own failed ward loop. No older than fifteen. Cloak too big. Staff half-broken at the tip, sparking in odd pulses.
She’s trembling.
I don’t step quietly.
I let her hear me come.
When she looks up, her eyes go wide. Round as coins. Every limb stiffens like she expects a monster.
And maybe she sees one.
But I kneel beside her anyway.
“You’re safe now.”
Her lip quivers. “I didn’t mean to cross the anchor line. I—I was just trying to trace ley-surge patterns for class, and then somethingbitmy staff?—”
I inspect the splintered wood. Vine rot. Reactive.
The Grove wasn’t attacking.
