“I just figured I should say thanks. For yesterday.”
“You said that already.”
She smiles, not the polite kind, but something closer to genuine. “I was half-asleep and in shock. Thought I’d give it another go.”
I nod toward the woods. “You always wander into strangers’ yards, or is that new?”
She glances around. “You don’t really have a yard. You have... forest.”
“Still mine.”
She laughs, the sound warm in a way that lingers longer than I expect.
“I’m Krista,” she says, offering a hand. “But I guess you know that.”
I don’t take the hand. She doesn’t drop it right away either, just lets the moment stretch.
“Hardin,” I say finally.
“Yeah,” she says. “I figured.”
Another beat. The wind shifts. I smell rosemary and something else, something faint but not accidental. She’s been touching the wards. Maybe without knowing.
“You should stay close to the trail,” I tell her. “There are things out here that don’t like surprises.”
Her eyes narrow just a touch. “That a warning or a threat?”
“Advice.”
She tilts her head, then nods once. “Okay. I’ll stay on the trail. Unless it looks like it’s trying to lie to me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Trails don’t lie.”
“Everything lies if it wants to bad enough,” she says, and turns to go.
It’s not until she’s out of sight that I let my jaw unclench.
That night,I light the perimeter stones around my cabin. The wards flare for a moment, then settle. They’ve been quieter since she arrived, like the Hollow is watching too closely to waste energy on whispers. I sit at the forge for a while, working a new blade for Sariah’s pack—silver and rowan-core, for the lower spirits in the southern glen—but my focus wanders.
There’s something odd in how she walks. Not careless. Not timid. Like she’s listening for a song she hasn’t heard in years, and only just realized it’s playing again.
And the girl... Mari. She doesn’t behave like most children. There’s a steadiness in her, like she belongs to the rhythm of the Hollow already. Like the magic remembers her.
I don’t like mysteries. Not in this place. Not this close to my border.
CHAPTER 3
KRISTA
By the time the sun burns off the worst of the morning fog, the town is already half awake and full of things I can’t explain. Not weird things, exactly. Just off. Like the colors are richer here, or the quiet is more patient. Even the birdsong feels like it’s waiting for you to notice it, instead of demanding your attention. Mari runs ahead of me on the worn cobblestone path that winds between gnarled trees and old lamp posts with cracked glass panes, her arms flung wide like she’s flying, and I have to remind myself not to yell for her to stay close. She’s fast, but she always stops before she’s truly out of reach.
A crow follows us. I don’t know why. It’s big, glossy, beady-eyed, and makes no sound. It just flaps from branch to branch overhead, keeping pace like it has somewhere to be and we’re conveniently going the same direction. Mari says its name is Button. She decided that this morning over oatmeal, and that was that.
Gristlewood Hollow is not what I expected, but I can’t quite say what Ididexpect. The buildings are old, but not run-down. Some look like they were pulled from storybooks, all pointed roofs and ivy-clad stone, while others are just cozy little cottageswith faded paint and porches filled with rocking chairs. People walk slowly here. They nod. They smile. But their eyes stay curious just a second longer than feels normal.
The first shop we find is a narrow green-painted place tucked beside a lopsided bakery that smells like cinnamon and... something vaguely burnt. There’s no sign above the door, just a symbol etched into the wood: a circle of stars with a feather through the center. Mari likes it immediately.
“Can we go in?” she asks, already tugging the door before I can answer.
