Maybe it won’t last. Maybe nothing does.
But right now, Finn is here. The shadows are harmless. And the world isn’t falling apart.
Not yet. But the trees feel too quiet. Like they’re waiting.
Chapter 24
Aspen
Something is wrong.
No — not wrong. Different.
I’ve been walking near the back of the group, tracking Kaia’s movements, tracking Kieran’s tension, tracking the weight Torric and Malrik are carrying between them. Callum’s unconscious body sways with every step, and I keep waiting for him to wake up and start screaming prophecies again.
But that’s not what’s making my skin prickle.
My ice spikes.
Not a flare of danger. Not fear. Not the oily wrongness of corruption pressing against my senses.
A pull.
A tug beneath my sternum — quiet but undeniable — like something in the land is whisperinghere.
I slow without meaning to.
The ground underfoot has changed. I didn’t notice it happening, but now I can’t unsee it. The dark, corrupted soil is giving way to something else. A faint blue glimmer beneaththe dead leaves. Frost-mist rising in delicate curls. Tiny flecks of pale light drifting through the air like snow motes, like stars fallen to earth.
And flowers.
Blue-luminescent flowers pushing through the rot, their petals soft and glowing, impossibly alive in a land that’s been dying for centuries.
I stop walking entirely.
“Aspen?”
Malrik’s voice cuts through the haze. I blink, realizing the group has continued on without me. They’ve stopped a few paces ahead, all of them turning to look at me with varying degrees of confusion.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Malrik says.
I shake my head slowly, like waking from a trance. “No. We have to go this way.”
Kieran tenses immediately. “Aspen, we can’t. We have to get Callum somewhere safe—”
“It’s not far.” The words come out sharper than I intend. I rub my temple, frustrated by the pull I can’t explain. “I just… I need to see.”
Kieran opens his mouth to argue.
“Please.” I don’t beg. I never beg. But this is important. I can feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the frost crackling at my fingertips. “Trust me.”
Kaia is watching me with that careful, empathetic attention that always makes me feel too exposed. Like she can see past my calm exterior to the chaos underneath.
“We follow him,” she says quietly.
No one argues.
When I ask for things, they listen. Because I don’t ask lightly.
