She lifts her chin, more defiant than her frail frame should allow. “I’m not a child.”
“You’re sick,” he retorts. “And it’s getting worse because you won’t listen-”
The moment his voice rises, Sebastian steps between them, blocking Anne completely from his uncle’s view.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” he says, voice low and lethal in a way that promises consequences.
Anne peeks around him to look at me as if searching for reassurance, or confirmation that she’s not imagining all this. Her eyes soften when she meets mine.
“You came a long way,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
Sebastian’s uncle looks ready to burst, face blotched red, jaw jutting, chest rising with the kind of breath a man takes right before unleashing years’ worth of bitterness. He squares his stance, raises a hand as if to shove Sebastian again, and inhales sharply, preparing to roar.
But before he can even shape a syllable, my voice slices through the tension.
“Listen closely,” I warn, tone low and edged like a drawn blade. “Veryclosely to my next words. And calculate your own with extreme care.”
The effect is immediate.
His uncle’s head whips toward me so fast dust scatters from the porch boards. Sebastian turns, too, his entire body going still as if bracing for impact. Even the wind seems to pause, rustling the rotting thatch of nearby roofs with a cautious, waiting hush.
I let the silence stretch, let the weight of what I’m about to say settle over the sickly village.
“Right now,” I continue, slow and deliberate, “you are standing in a hot zone for the Shadeborne scouts. I would advise minding your tone.”
Sebastian’s shoulders go rigid.
Theo tilts his head, sensing the shift more than hearing it.
Sebastian’s uncle pales, the anger draining from his face as if I’ve cut a vein.
“No...no, the Shadeborne hasn’t released scouts in weeks-” he stammers.
“It is the first week of the month,” Liam interjects, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry the truth like a warning bell. “You know they always come to collect. Best not give them a reason to come early.”
The words land with the weight of prophecy.
A thick silence swallows the clearing.
Even the air seems to recoil, as though the trees themselves understand the danger invoked.
Sebastian’s uncle stands there a moment longer, jaw trembling, his gaze flicking between Liam and me with a fear he can’t mask. Whatever he was about to say gets swallowed whole. He turns stiffly and disappears back into the cottage, the door closing behind him with a muted, uneven thud.
The moment he’s gone, Anne steps forward again, small and fragile under her blanket, blinking up at us with that same soft, earnest smile, as though she’s determined to cling to the little warmth she has left. Liam and Theo move immediately, gentling their voices, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, doing what her own guardian has failed to do.
I take a step toward her, but Sebastian’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm just above the elbow.
He isn’t rough, but the urgency in his touch is unmistakable.
He pulls me back a half-step until I’m close enough to feel the uneven cadence of his breath. His brows are pinched, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, the kind of stare that demands answers he’s not prepared to hear.
His voice drops low, meant for me alone.
“How,” he whispers, each word sharpened by confusionand something perilously close to fear, “the hell do you know about the Shadeborne?”
His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell me he won’t let the question go.
Not this time.
