“I wasn’t far.”
Krista pulls back, brushing mud from Mari’s cheek. “You were far enough.”
She stands then, turning to me, and the gratitude in her voice is laced with something more tired than sleep can fix. “Thankyou. I didn’t even know she was gone until the kettle screamed and she didn’t answer.”
“She was heading toward the alder ring,” I say, watching her reaction carefully.
Her brow furrows. “That... means nothing to me. Should it?”
“It’s old ground. The Hollow keeps it mostly sealed. Things gather there sometimes. Things that don’t like being seen.”
“Like ghosts?” Mari pipes up.
I shake my head. “Older than ghosts.”
Krista wraps her arms around herself, like the chill’s finally caught her. “She said she heard singing. Said it felt like dreaming.”
“Don’t let her walk alone again. Not until the Hollow finishes watching.”
Krista looks at me for a long time, searching for something. “Watching what?”
“I don’t know yet.” I start to turn. Then stop. “But it’s awake. And it’s listening.”
Later that morning,I stop by Vess’s tower near the lake. Her glass windows flicker with shifting symbols, wards built into the glass itself, and the smell of sage smoke seeps through the cracks. She lets me in without knocking.
“She touched the threadline,” I say.
Vess lifts a kettle from the hearth, pouring water into a chipped stone mug. “Of course she did. The girl is a hinge. The door’s already swinging.”
“She shouldn’t have gotten that close. The Hollow let her in.”
“It always lets the right ones in.”
“Or the dangerous ones.”
She studies me over the rim of her cup. “You’re worried.”
“She’s a child.”
“She’sthechild. There’s a difference.”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t see it?”
“I see what I need to. And I see you, circling their house like a bear that doesn’t know if it wants to protect or tear something down.”
I don’t respond.
She sips her tea. “Keep watching. But don’t mistake caution for fear. The Hollow doesn’t wake for no reason.”
That night,I find myself walking the edge of the Briar property again, boots sinking softly into loam and moss. The cottage windows glow faintly, firelight spilling out like it wants to escape into the fog. Inside, I can make out shadows: Krista curled in a chair with a book, Mari dancing barefoot in the living room like the floor sings only for her. There’s music playing. Something old. Vinyl, maybe. Something Johanna would’ve owned.
I lean against an old pine and watch too long.
I tell myself it’s the job. That the council asked me to keep eyes. That the Hollow stirred first, not me.
But then Krista gets up, walks to the window, and for a moment, our eyes meet. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wave either. Just holds the look, soft and steady, like she sees more than she’s supposed to.
I break the gaze first. Move back into the trees. The air is cold. My coat smells like cedar and forge smoke.
