Woodsmoke.
And something softer underneath.
Lavender.
“Mom,” Daniel whispered, barely audible.
My chest clenched so hard it hurt.
The silver light shifted, and for a heartbeat I saw it—just a flash, like an afterimage burned into the world.
A woman standing where Daniel knelt.
Dark hair pulled back. Strong shoulders. A hand resting on Daniel’s head like a blessing.
Then it was gone.
Daniel’s breath hitched.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stayed, because some moments deserved silence.
When Daniel finally opened his eyes, they were bright. Not crying—Daniel didn’t look like a man who let tears fall easily—but wet enough that my throat tightened in sympathy.
He stood slowly, like his bones had gotten heavier.
And then he turned to me and said, voice rough, “Now.”
“Now what?”
“Now you,” he said, and held out his hand.
I stared at it. “Daniel?—”
“You don’t have to go in,” he said. “Just… come closer. Let it see you.”
My heart thudded painfully in my chest.
I stepped to the stone ring, fingers still threaded with his.
The silver pool shimmered.
And then—like a breath—light rose and brushed my boots, cool and clean.
I sucked in a sharp inhale.
It didn’t feel like the Moon Clearing.
It felt like being looked at by something ancient that didn’t care what mask I wore.
The light brushed my ankle, my calf, and a pulse of warmth spread through my chest like recognition.
Daniel’s fingers tightened.
The silver ribbon curled up my wrist and paused—hovering, waiting.
I swallowed, throat tight. “It wants?—”
“The truth,” Daniel finished quietly.
