“That,” Twobble replied darkly, “is how every bad decision in history begins.”
I kept walking.
The trail curved slightly, slipping deeper between the trees. Branches arched overhead, dimming the light until the gold of the afternoon faded into cooler shadows.
Twobble muttered something about heroic last stands but followed.
Skonk followed too, broom still clutched as if it might suddenly decide to participate in the situation.
The feeling of being watched grew stronger with each step.
It wasn’t a hostile sensation, not yet.
I slowed.
Somewhere ahead, a branch creaked softly.
Twobble froze, and Skonk stopped chewing.
“Okay,” Twobble whispered, “that was definitely not the wind.”
“Agreed,” Skonk said quietly.
My heart began to beat a little faster.
But the strange thing was… the fear wasn’t the sharp, icy kind I’d come to expect from Shadowick.
This felt different and almost familiar, somehow.
Like a memory I couldn’t quite reach.
I took another step and another.
The trees parted slightly to form a small clearing.
And someone stood there.
He wasn’t hiding.
He wasn’t moving.
He merely stood quietly as if he’d been waiting for us to arrive.
Twobble immediately spread his arms wider.
“Hold it right there!”
The man didn’t react.
He looked at me.
Only me.
Dark hair brushed the collar of his coat, wind-tossed in that careless way that made it look like he’d walked a long way to get here. His shoulders were squared, but not in the same solid, grounded way Keegan carried himself. There was something looser in the way he stood.
His eyes were brown.
Not the deep, storm-dark shade Gideon carried.
