“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“For what?” I asked, staring out on the road.
“For ruining your morning.”
“Sunshine, you could burn down the whole festival and I’d still choose you.”
She laughed and it warmed every part of me. We drove past other orchards, the frost bright against the grass. A few thistles poked through near the fence—sharp, stubborn little things.
“Thistles,” I muttered.
Harmony blinked over at me.
“Your mom,” I said quietly. “Rosalie. She used to braid them into your hair. Said they were tough and beautiful and hard to kill.”
Her breath caught. “I didn’t think anyone remembered that.”
“I remember everything about you,” I said honestly.
Her fingers brushed the pendant at her throat, the one that belonged to her mom. When we pulled into Maple Valley, I reached the cabin steps first and froze.
Footprints. They were fresh and not mine. Not Harmony’s either, or Dad’s, for that matter. My instincts kicked in instantly.
“Harmony,” I said, steady and quiet, “stay right here.”
She saw the prints and stiffened. “Eric. . .”
“Stay.” I didn’t mean to come across so firm, but my instinct was to protect because something was off.
I circled the cabin carefully and found a scuff mark near the window. Then something caught the light. A crushed thistle and, beneath it, a folded photo.
I picked it up and my breath caught. It was Harmony at the festival. It was taken from a distance. Cold burned through my lungs as I returned to her. Her eyes widened.
“What did you find?” she whispered.
I opened my palm. Her breath hitched.
“A message,” I said softly. “For you.”
She stared at the crushed thistle, Rosalie’s symbol, which was flattened like someone wanted her to know they could break it.
Her voice trembled. “Eric…”
I touched her cheek. “Whoever this is, they crossed a line.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”
I stepped close, voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her forehead pressed into my chest, breath shaking.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I know.” I wrapped my arms around her. “But you’re not alone anymore.”
Her fingers curled into my jacket.
“Come inside,” I murmured.
