Evening primrose.
But they don’t grow this far south.
I blink hard. Once. Twice. The flower remains—alive and rooted, impossibly real.
It’s a gift. I know it in my bones. A quiet blessing from the gods—from Saela herself.
I reach out to touch the Evening Primrose—just to be sure it’s real.
I press a petal gently between my fingertips and rub.
Its velvet softness stirs something deep.
It reminds me of my mother’s laugh—the one that spilled out whenever I told her a story. Of my father’s hands—strong and sure—lifting me high to reach the ripest apple in the tree.
Ofhome.
But home isn’t just my village anymore. Not justLiora.
Home is here now, at the outpost. Or maybe . . . this is home as well as Liora.
Garrick’s teasing, like a big brother. Jarek, pushing me to my limits, then making me laugh when I’m too hard on myself. Rian’s quiet steadiness. Valen’s unwavering faith.
Taila, Nessa, Darius, and Fenric—always ready with a joke, always treating me like I’m just another soul trying to find her way. An equal.
And Lyra—my lighthouse. Always holding me steady. Always lighting the way home.
I close my eyes, still rubbing the petal between my fingertips, and I think ofhim.
Of Thane.
The way he’s been a constant since the day my powers awakened. Never wavering. Never stepping away. Always there—no matter how I rage, no matter how I resist. He lets me crash against him again and again, and he stays. Steady.
Like the old oak tree by the lake. Rooted. Unmoving. A place to rest.
Thane is home.
The bond hums low in my chest, like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.
And just like that, the doubts drain away—like rain washing the dirt from my hands, my face, my knees—after a long day planting in the fields.
I release the petal from my fingers and rise. The sun is beginning to peak over the mountain range surrounding theoutpost. I finally know where I belong.
THANE
As soon as I dismount, Jarek’s on me—Rian close behind.
“What the fuck, Thane?!” Jarek jabs a finger into my chest.
I tense, reflexively resting a hand on my sword hilt. Jarek’s eyes drop to my hand—then snap back to mine, daring me to pull my sword. Jarek’s always been the one to push me right to the edge, never concerned with my title or rank. Most times, I am grateful he treats me as his equal.
Other times, like now, I want to punch him in the face.
Rian grips Jarek’s shoulders, gently pulling him back. “Easy, brother,” he murmurs to Jarek—but his eyes stay on me.
Jarek’s hazel eyes blaze—hotter than I’ve seen in a long time. Deliberately, I swipe my palm across the spot where his finger hit.
I glance between my brothers. Rian’s face is pinched, but Jarek looks ready to erupt. I’ve seen this look before—when something’s grinding under his skin.
