The admission helped, somehow. Corin's shoulders loosened a fraction.
"Have you told anyone else?" Elias asked.
"Finn saw me checking hives this morning. Made a joke about burying bodies." Corin's mouth twitched despite himself. "Didn't tell him anything real."
"And you came to me."
"You've seen more than most. Figured if anyone would know what to look for..."
Elias pushed off the workbench and moved to the window, gazing out at the gray afternoon. His profile was hard and weathered of a man who had spent too many nights walking the borders of Hollow Oak, watching for threats that came in silence and shadow.
"When Kaia first came to town," he said, "the dreams started going wrong before anyone noticed. Small things. People waking up tired. Bad sleep. It wasn't until the pattern showed itself that we understood something was feeding on it."
Corin frowned. "You think something's feeding on the land?"
"I think patterns matter. Bees. Soil. Plants." Elias turned back to face him. "Keep watching. Document what you see. If it spreads, we'll know it's not coincidence."
Corin nodded, but the knot in his chest didn't ease. He'd come here hoping Elias would have answers, or at least tell him he was overreacting. Instead, he'd gotten confirmation that his instincts were right.
Something was wrong with the land. And no one knew what.
"Thanks," Corin said. "For listening."
"That's what family's for." Elias clapped a hand on his shoulder, grip solid and grounding. "You're not wrong to be concerned. But don't carry it alone. You've got people."
Corin managed a nod. He gathered the crate of damaged frames and made his way to the door.
"Corin."
He paused, looked back.
Elias's expression was unreadable again, but something knowing glinted in those silver eyes. "The herbalist. Chloe. She good people?"
Corin's bear rumbled, low and warm.
"Yeah," he said. "She is."
Elias nodded once, as if that confirmed something. "Keep an eye on her too, then. If the land's hurting, she'll feel it before most."
Corin didn't trust himself to answer. He just nodded and walked out into the cold.
The drive back to the orchard was quiet. His bear was clawing at his skin, as if agitated. The bees were struggling. The soil was wrong. And he'd just admitted to Elias, steady, unshakeable Elias, that he didn't know how to fix any of it.
He hated not knowing. Hated the helplessness that came with watching things he'd tended for years start to fail.
But more than that, he hated the creeping suspicion that this was bigger than winter losses. Bigger than drainage issues or cold snaps or anything he could solve with patience and careful hands.
5
CHLOE
Morning light filtered gray and weak through the apothecary's back windows as Chloe set another tray of wilted starts on Freya's worktable. The seedlings had looked fine two days ago. Now their leaves drooped, edges curling inward like they were trying to protect themselves from something invisible.
Freya bent over the tray, copper hair falling in a curtain around her face as she examined the plants with careful fingers. She didn't speak for a long moment. Just touched the soil, rubbed a yellowed leaf between her fingertips and brought it to her nose.
"This isn't cold damage," she said finally.
"I know."
