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Hazel gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Well, now you do.”

“I ruined it.”

“You delayed it,” Hazel corrected. “Not destroyed. Time ain’t always the enemy.”

The garden rustled softly around them. A few sunflowers turned toward Rollo like they were listening, leaning closer in the hush.

Hazel leaned closer herself, her voice dropping to a murmur. “But that’s not the only reason you’re here, is it?”

He hesitated, then said, “The forest’s off.”

Her face grew serious. “You feel it too?”

“It started small—animals restless, wards glitching. But the last few days… it’s worse. And the phoenix pup? He wouldn’t eat until Delilah came near.”

Hazel nodded once, slow and solemn. “The forest is stirring, Rollo. Old things waking up. Magic shifting. And your past…” she paused, fingers brushing petals that hadn’t bloomed a second ago, “Your past will test your future.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer directly. “You ever seen trees cry?”

Rollo shook his head.

“You will. If you’re not careful.”

Silence fell again. He looked at the garden, the way it pulsed like a living heart. Even it was anxious. Even it knew something was unraveling beneath the surface.

“What should I do?” he asked, voice low.

Hazel’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Be brave enough to love her. And strong enough to protect more than just your heart this time.”

He nodded slowly, rising from the bench.

Hazel smiled and tucked the violet into his shirt pocket. “For clarity,” she said. “You’re going to need it.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough.

As he turned to go, Hazel called softly after him, “And Rollo?”

He looked back, the weight of the past hanging between them like storm clouds.

“Delilah’s not the only thing coming home,” Hazel said, her eyes shadowed now. “Watch the shadows.”

7

DELILAH

The pink moon rose like a silent warning over Celestial Pines.

Thick clouds rolled off the ridgeline in bruised streaks of violet and rust, parting just enough to reveal that heavy red disk hanging low over the woods like an eye half-lidded in judgment. The Whispering Woods rustled with more than just wind—tonight, theymurmured. Not the usual sleepy kind of whisper either. This one sounded… awake. Watching.

Delilah stood at the edge of the clearing, breath misting in the cold air, hands clenched around her moonstone pendant as if it could ground her. Her bare feet sunk slightly into the mossy ground, and her chest ached with anticipation.

“You sure about this?” Wren asked, voice rough from too many coughing fits, but still steady. She leaned on her ashwood walking stick, her fox familiar curled around her neck like a scarf.

Delilah nodded. “If there’s something wrong with the woods, I need to feel it.”

Wren tilted her head, studying her with wise, tired eyes. “Feeling ain’t always safe, child. Especially under this moon withthe way things have been happening. This moon feels all too close to a blood moon instead.”