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Then Junie Bell’s unmistakable whoop echoing over the roofs like thunder cracking through a quiet storm.

And then the sound grew, rolled, gathered—applause not of spectacle, but ofthanks.

Delilah blinked, caught off guard as the people began to approach—not rushing, but moving with quiet reverence. They didn’t look at her like a stranger anymore. Not like the girl who left, or the one who came back angry and unsure.

They looked at her like someone who hadsavedthem.

Because she had.

She had stood between them and rot. Between light and ruin. And theyknew.

“You felt it,” she whispered under her breath, stunned.

Rollo nodded, his grip on her hand steady and sure. “They felt everything. The Veil, the Pact—the forest breathing again.”

A young girl pressed a sprig of blooming sweetgrass into Delilah’s hand, her small fingers brushing Delilah’s palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered before darting back behind her mother’s skirts.

More followed. Little touches. Quiet words. Heads bowed in gratitude.

There were no garlands. No fanfare.

But there didn’t need to be.

The magic she had restored lived in their eyes.

Delilah swallowed hard, her voice catching. “I wasn’t gone long…”

“You didn’t need to be,” Rollo said gently, looking at her like she held the moon in her hands. “You came back changed. And so did they.”

From the crowd, Wren stepped forward—no cane, no shawl, no sluggish haze in her eyes. Just Wren, tall and fierce in her way, a crown of blooming herbs twined through her hair.

Delilah gasped.

“Gran?”

Wren smiled. Not weakly—triumphantly.

“Did you think I was going to miss the celebration after all that hollering you did in the woods?”

Delilah launched forward and threw her arms around her.

“I thought?—”

“I know,” Wren murmured, hugging her tightly. “But I told you, child. You’re the bloom. All I had to do was hold on long enough for you to realize your roots were deeper than you thought.”

Delilah’s heart swelled, tears catching at the corners of her eyes as Rollo joined them, looping an arm around her waist and bowing slightly to Wren.

“Glad to see you upright,” he said with a smirk.

“Glad to be upright,” Wren replied, nudging him. “Though I hear you’re partially to blame for my sore ribs. That boy you fought had shadows deeper than a cave troll’s butt.”

“Colorful,” Rollo said, laughing.

They walked slowly through the square, hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder, as if returning from a pilgrimage.

Because in a way—they had.