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Delilah stepped aside.

Hazel swept in like a storm wearing velvet, her long cloak trailing tiny purple blossoms that shimmered faintly in the dim shop light.

Hazel had never warmed up to Delilah, though Delilah had also left at the age most got to know Hazel.

“You look like someone who kissed an old flame and then set herself on fire,” Hazel said without missing a beat.

Delilah’s cheeks flamed. “Do all dryads read minds now?”

Hazel smiled. “Don’t need to. You’re practically glowing.”

“Pretty sure that’s residual embarrassment.”

Hazel wandered to the center of the room, fingertips brushing over a hanging satchel of dried lemon balm. The air thickened.

“I came because the forest sent me,” she said finally.

Delilah stilled. “What do you mean?”

Hazel turned, vines curling gently down her arms. “There’s a storm brewing, Delilah Moonstone. And it isn’t just twisted roots or wayward rogue magic. It’s deeper. Older.”

Delilah’s throat went dry. “I’ve felt it. I just don’t know what itwants.”

Hazel walked closer, stopping just a few feet away. Her eyes were green—not hazel, ironically—but the kind of green that came from untouched groves and forgotten glades. She smelled like cedar and something wild.

“The forest showed me a vision,” she said. “Of two fates entwined.”

Delilah’s heart skipped. “Mine?”

Hazel nodded. “Yours. And Rollo’s.”

Delilah swallowed. “What kind of vision?”

Hazel reached out, gently touched the back of Delilah’s hand. Her skin was warm, almost humming.

“He will mark you,” Hazel whispered. “Or the woods will claim you both.”

Delilah sucked in a breath. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet,” Hazel said, voice uncharacteristically unsure. “The threads are tangled. But the choice lies in the binding.”

Delilah shook her head, stepping back. “No. I can’t just… fall into this because the forest says so.”

“Fated doesn’t meanforced,” Hazel said, repeating Wren’s words. “It meansfound. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Or that it’s safe.”

Delilah glanced at the door, heart twisting.

Hazel tilted her head. “You still care about him.”

“That’s the problem,” Delilah whispered.

Hazel gave her hand one last squeeze. “Then you best figure out what you’re willing to risk.”

Then she turned and left, her vines trailing petals in her wake.

Delilah stood there long after the door clicked shut, Hazel’s words blooming like dread in her chest.

He will mark you, or the woods will claim you both.