“Age,” I say, though the lie tastes bitter. “We’ve let the north lines run soft. I’ve been asking for renewal glyphs for months.”
Roderik arches a brow. “Interesting timing, given our new resident.”
I don’t look at him. “She had nothing to do with it.”
Sariah stops pacing. “How do you know?”
“Because I was there.”
“You were there because you’ve been circling her property like a damn hawk with insomnia,” she says, not unkindly. “No one’s accusing, Hardin. But you’ve got eyes. You’ve felt it. Things are moving since she showed up.”
“She’s not the cause,” I repeat, this time slower. “If anything, she’s a response.”
That quiets them.
Vess’s gaze narrows. “Explain.”
“She’s got blood that remembers. The Hollow didn’t call her by accident.”
“You think she’s an anchor?” Therrin speaks for the first time, voice like low thunder. “That’s dangerous thinking.”
“I think she’s part of a pattern we don’t understand yet,” I say. “But whatever came through today didn’t come for her. It came for the Hollow.”
“And yet,” Roderik drawls, “she’s the only new variable.”
“She’s not a variable,” I growl, the edge of my temper slipping free. “She’s a person. And she doesn’t know enough yet to be dangerous.”
“Then she’s vulnerable,” Vess says softly. “Which makes her a liability.”
I meet her gaze, hold it.
“Only if we treat her like one.”
By evening,the fog hasn’t lifted. The trees are still heavy with damp ash, and the air carries a bitter tang that doesn’t belong in fall. I walk the ridge near the Briar place again, boots quiet on the moss, blade strapped to my back out of habit more than caution. The wards here are still holding, faint and old but steady. The Hollow likes this ground. It’s claimed it.
When I round the curve near the garden path, I see her.
Krista.
She’s kneeling in the grass near the back fence, sleeves rolled up, dirt on her hands, pulling dried herbs from the soil and humming something under her breath. There’s a basket beside her, already half-filled with sage, yarrow, and something I can’t name. She hasn’t seen me yet.
She’s not glowing, not visibly. But the air around her shimmers, faint as breath. The same way the Hollow shimmers when it’s listening.
I step forward, let my foot land heavy so she hears me.
She startles, then relaxes when she sees it’s me. “You really do show up like a ghost,” she says, brushing her hands off on her jeans.
“Ghosts don’t breathe this loud.”
She smiles. “What brings you creeping around today?”
“Something broke the outer wards. This morning.”
Her face shifts. Not panic, but focus. “You mean someone came through?”
“Something.”
She stands slowly. “That sounds worse.”
