Wes doesn’t say anything else. He just smooths the fabric back into place like that’ll make it better.
He might’ve joked on the way back to the cars, but he’s not joking now.
I round the front of my truck, trying to shake it off—and that’s when I see it.
A feather.
Caught behind the grill. Small. Black.Wrong.
I pull it free. Glossy. Sharp at the tip.
How did this get here?
When I glance up, Wes is already watching me.
Gray catches the look between us. Doesn’t say a word. Just keeps moving—but slower now. More careful.
I toss the feather aside before I can decide if I’m just being paranoid.
But the tension doesn’t lift.
The adrenaline’s fading now, leaving behind the crash that always follows. I lean against my truck and take inventory, the way I always do when the world tilts sideways.
Jace is still vibrating, laughing too hard at nothing. Theo hasn’t spoken in thirty seconds, which might be a personal record. Wes looks like a statue—arms crossed, unreadable, processing whatever just happened in that quiet way of his. And Gray’s still moving, still circling, like the forest might suddenly grow teeth.
Everyone’s unraveling in their own way.
I just happen to do it quietly.
“We should go,” I say finally. Because standing here won’t change what we just saw, won’t make it make sense, won’t bring her back from whatever she found in that clearing.
Jace sighs and tosses his keys at Gray without looking. “You drive. I’m spiritually unwell.”
Gray catches them one-handed. “So unwell you’re driving Thane’s BMW?”
Jace smirks as he folds himself into the car
One by one, we pile back into our vehicles. The mood shifts, quiets, like the laughter was just a pressure valve and now we’re all settling into the weight of what comes next.
I grip the wheel tighter than I need to, checking my mirrors one more time before putting the truck in drive. I can see the BMW already moving, leading us deeper into whatever this day is becoming.
We fall in behind it, engines purring like we haven’t just stepped into something unknown.
But all I can hear is her name.
And the way the forest answered it.
Chapter 22
Bree
The crow calls again, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the sacred quiet that still clings to the clearing. I'm standing at the edge of where normal forest becomes something else—where the path I walked still shimmers faintly with residual light.
Behind me, I can hear the others regrouping. Voices carrying across the distance, footsteps on gravel, the sound of car doors slamming. They found their way back to the cars. Good. I hadn't even thought about that until now, but the relief settles warm in my chest anyway.
The crow calls a third time, and something about it makes my skin crawl. It's not just the sound—it's the timing. The way it feels deliberate. Like it's trying to get someone's attention.
Soft footsteps approach from behind. Not rushing, but there's tension in them.
