Page 8

But still, her fingers wouldn’t stop tracing the edge of the counter where he’d stood—like the wood still held his warmth.

4

ROLLO

The phoenix pup wouldn’t eat.

Rollo crouched beside the stone basin in the sunroom, holding out a bowl of crushed char-root and ground firepetals—normally irresistible. But the creature just blinked at him, its half-molted feathers ruffled and dulled to a soot-gray sheen.

“Come on, ember tail,” he coaxed softly, his deep voice low and warm like river rocks under sunlight. “Just one bite. For me?”

The pup squeaked, then turned its head and tucked it beneath a trembling wing.

Rollo sat back on his heels, exhaling. The fire hadn’t gone out of the little bird completely, but it was flickering. He could feel it in his bones, the way his bear paced restlessly beneath his skin, agitated by the wrongness in the air.

Something’s poisoning the magic here.

He’d known it for weeks—first in the uneasy silences of the forest, then in the way the sanctuary’s wards hummed low like they were preparing for a storm. It had only gotten worse since spring touched the air.

And now Delilah was back.

Just when everything else was going sideways.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping against his callused palm. Part of him still reeled from seeing her yesterday. From the way she’d looked at him—like she wasn’t sure whether to slap him or summon a weather spell.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

Rollo stood and adjusted the heating stones around the phoenix pup’s nest, letting the warmth rise before stepping toward the front of the sanctuary.

The morning mist was still clinging to the trees like a shawl, but the sun was breaking through in strips—thin gold brushing over the forest canopy. He opened the door and there she was standing right there on his porch.

Delilah.

Dark curls tied up in a green scarf, cheeks pink from the crisp mountain air. Her hands were shoved deep in her coat pockets, and her expression wasn’t quite apologetic—but it wasn’t biting either.

“Well,” he said, his voice raspier than he meant. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

She gave a half-shrug. “I figured since I stormed out the day before with all the grace of a hexed badger and yesterday snapped at you for simply checking on my grandmother, I should… at least show up before the gossip starts.”

Rollo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Appreciate the warning. I was bracing for magical scones with my face on 'em.”

That made her lips twitch. Just barely.

“I brought an apology,” she said, lifting a small cloth-wrapped bundle from her bag. “Dried orange slices. For the animals. Not you.”

He took it with a nod, fingers brushing hers as he did.

Static.

Or maybe not static. Maybe something else.

The contact was brief, but enough to rattle the calm he’d been piecing together. Her magic still shimmered under her skin, barely contained. And it recognized him.

He cleared his throat. “They’ll love ‘em.”

She stepped past him without asking for permission. “This where you keep the babies?” she asked, peering toward the sunroom.

“Phoenix pup’s sick. Won’t eat. That’s where I’ve been all morning.”