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I nearly cry. “It’s growing.”

Malakai nods. “Because that’s what land does.”

Not because it was fed. Not because somebody died. Just because.

I smile.

Then smell smoke.

Rhett turns. “Oh.”

Ward House is on fire. Not supernatural fire. Regular fucking fire. Orange flames climb the roof.

Mariah stares. “Should we put that out?”

Ezra watches his ancestral home burn.

Long silence.

“No.”

Rhett smiles.

Malakai stands.

Mercy looks at it.

I look at Ezra. “You sure?”

He takes my hand. “Very.”

We walk.

Away from Ward House. Away from the field. Away from two hundred and thirty-five years of graves. The boundary approaches and Ezra slows.

I feel it.

His fear.

He hasn’t crossed this line since 1791.

Rhett crosses first then turns and grins at us. “Come on, old man.”

“Fuck you.”

“Living suits you already.”

Malakai crosses next and nothing happens.

Then Ezra.

He stops.

I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to.”

He looks at me. “I know.”

Choice. Always.