Gideon crushed it between his palms.
It dissolved into smoke that smelled like burnt hair and something rotting. The floating debris dropped. The leaves settled. The ward stone flared bright, then settled back into its normal gentle glow.
But the clearing still felt wrong. Fragile in ways it hadn't before.
Gideon slumped back on his heels, breathing hard. Sweat soaked through his shirt despite the cold. When he looked up at me, his eyes were sharp with exhaustion and worry.
“That'll hold. For now. But it's going to come back.”
“How long?”
“Days. Maybe a week.” He pushed himself to his feet, swayed slightly. “I can clear it again when it returns, but I can't break the connection permanently.”
“Do you recognize the signature?”
Gideon was quiet for a long moment. His eyes tracked to Nate, who stood silent at the edge of the clearing, still half-connected to whatever forest consciousness had been feeding him information.
“Hard to tell. It's dark craft,” Gideon said finally.
Nate stepped forward, and there was something old in his expression. Something that belonged to the forest more than the boy.
“The land knows something's wrong,” he said quietly. “It's been trying to fight back on its own, but it can't hold forever. Whatever's coming...” He shuddered. “It's bigger than just corrupted wards. I can feel it waiting.”
Gideon and I exchanged looks. The same thought passing between us without words.
“I'll start checking the entire perimeter tomorrow at dawn,” Gideon said. “Map every corruption point, identify any gaps we've missed. In the meantime, increase patrols. Trust nothing that feels wrong.”
He gathered his tools, headed toward his truck. He drove away before I could respond, taillights disappearing into gathering dark.
14
THE ORDINARY MAGIC OF CHOSEN FAMILY
MICHAEL
One minute I was driving, thinking about nothing more complicated than the inventory reports Daniel had asked me to review. The next, the engine made a sound like a dying animal, the check engine light flickered on with what felt like personal malice, and the whole thing shuddered to a stop.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
I tried the ignition. Click. Nothing. Tried again, because apparently I'd become the kind of person who believed doing the same thing twice would produce different results. Still nothing.
I sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the dashboard like it had personally betrayed me. The truck was old, sure. Had been making concerning noises for weeks. But I'd been putting off getting it looked at because there was always something more urgent, always another project demanding attention.
Stupid. Anna would have dragged me to the mechanic weeks ago, would have given me that look she had when I was being stubborn about things that obviously needed fixing.
I pulled out my phone, scrolled to Daniel's number. Hesitated.
It was a work day. He had a million things to deal with that were more important than my automotive incompetence. But I was supposed to be at the mill in twenty minutes, and walking wasn't exactly an option when the mill was another eight miles down the road.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Michael.” His voice was warm, slightly surprised. “Everything okay?”
“That depends on your definition of okay. My truck just died on Route 7, about three miles from the mill. I'm going to need a tow, and probably a ride if you can spare someone.”
“Shit. You alright? Not hurt or anything?”
“Just stranded and feeling stupid for ignoring the warning signs.” I leaned my head back against the seat. “Sorry to bother you with this. I know you're busy.”
