Page 31

Rollo pulled back instantly, his eyes almost glowing.

“Delilah—”

But she was already stepping back.

She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Her lips still burned, but her voice had turned to dust.

With shaking fingers, she turned, grabbed the now-wobbly basket, and walked away.

Fast.

By the time she reached the apothecary, the sun had dipped below the hills, and the air was damp with the scent of moss and nightfall.

Inside, everything was still. Wren had left a light spell glowing in the front window, its soft amber hue flickering like fireflies. Thistle blinked at her from his perch atop the hearth, but didn’t move.

She nudged the door shut with her hip and dropped the basket on the counter with a loud thud of irritation.

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself. “Stupid.”

She didn’t bother lighting more lamps. Darkness felt easier right now. Like she could hide in it, if just for a while.

Wren was asleep in her rocker, breathing deep and steady beneath the quilt Delilah had woven her last Solstice. Thank the moon for that. She didn’t think she could stomach a knowing look or gentle, smug “I told you so.”

The silence was a mercy.

She began unpacking the basket, setting aside jars of moonflower resin, little bags of wild ginger, the enchanted dream candles Wren had specifically not asked for. Her hands moved on autopilot, her heart still thudding like a second heartbeat just behind her ribs.

What was she doing?

One kiss and her knees had gone soft. Onemomentand she’d let her guard drop like a loose thread unraveling all her carefully patched-up resolve.

“He still makes you feel like you’re twenty again,” she whispered to herself bitterly. “And youhatedbeing twenty.”

A knock sounded at the door, soft but firm.

Delilah froze.

“Nope,” she said aloud, already walking to the back. “Nope, nope?—”

Another knock.

She turned, groaning under her breath. “Rollo, if you are standing out there like some pine-scented apology, I swear—” She pulled open the door. And blinked.

Not Rollo.

Hazel Fairweather.

Delilah instinctively straightened her spine.

Hazel was the kind of woman you couldn’t slouch around, even when she didn’t say a word. Elder of the town council. Seer. Dryad-blooded. She didn’t walk so much asarrive—tall, willowy, her hair a wild crown of braids threaded with living vines that shifted with the breeze.

And tonight, those vines were more thorns.

Never a good sign.

“Can I come in?” Hazel asked, voice soft and knowing but yet still cold.