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Wait. Something clicks.

She spent three hours in that forest with Whispen. Three hours of “existential crisis” that ended with her claiming royal territory and walking back like she’d just solved the universe’s greatest puzzle.

That wasn’t a breakdown.

That was a strategy session.

And we’re all playing exactly the roles she needs us to play.

Hold on, Thorn. Please—just hold on.

“Oh my stars and thorns!” comes a voice crackling with delight. “Such beautiful despair! I haven’t felt this much delicious hopelessness in centuries!”

Whispen materializes mid-sentence, translucent form bobbing between us like a psychotic Christmas ornament. His needle-toothed grin stretches too wide for his face, golden light pulsing with manic excitement.

“Whispen,” I snarl, though part of me is desperate enough to hope even this chaotic spirit might have answers. “If you’re here to mock?—”

“Mock? Mock?” He zooms closer to my face. “I would never mock such exquisite suffering! This level of elegant doom deserves celebration!”

“Do you know something?” Finnian demands. “About the barriers, the trial?—”

“Oh, I know everything!” Whispen spins in place like a demented compass needle. “Tried to reach our precious root-born, tried to slip through those lovely crystal barriers! But the Unseelie magic won’t let me through! She’s completely alone in there!”

Ice crystallizes in my arteries, each beat of my heart pumping frozen shards through my veins. Through the bond, that strange calm pulses again.

Too calm. Too controlled for someone facing execution alone.

“What will the trial require?” Kieran demands.

“Oh, the usual! Solo manifestation of four ancient treasures, unified magical response!” Whispen bounces with each word. “And if any treasure refuses her call, if any guardian’s will conflicts with her command—instant death! Violently! Spectacularly!”

Four treasures. Solo manifestation. The exact scenario we’ve been preparing for, except...

The Cauldron burns against my ribs with recognition that makes my breath catch. Not warning. Approval. Like the ancient treasure knows something I don’t.

What if this isn’t about surviving their trial?

What if this is about hijacking it?

The oath detonates through my spine like liquid lightning, black ink spreading until tattoos cover my throat. Every ancestor who failed their charge screams through the connection.

But underneath the agony, something else gnaws at me. That wrongness I can’t name.

“She’s not afraid,” I whisper, pressing my palm against the Cauldron’s burning outline. “Through the bond... she should be terrified. Instead, she feels...”

I struggle for words to describe the emotional resonance flowing through our connection. Like someone who’s not justprepared—someone who’s ready. Like she’s been planning for this moment.

“Ready for what?” Kieran asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” The words claw up my throat like broken glass. “But she doesn’t feel like someone facing execution.”

The silence stretches between us like a chasm.

“Six hours,” Kieran says finally. “Six hours until the trial begins.”

I try to stand, guardian tattoos writhing as they continue spreading. The movement sends fresh agony through every nerve, but it’s nothing compared to the emotional devastation of realizing I might not understand the woman I’m sworn to protect.

“The guardian oath,” I say, voice like gravel. “It’s supposed to burn until I reach her. Until I can protect her.”