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Instead, I’m hiking into the woods like the protagonist in a horror movie who clearly hasn’t seen a horror movie. But after two days of tiptoeing around the cabin, jumping at every splash in the lake and every rustle in the underbrush, I need space to think.

Besides, I’m bored as hell.

The whole “find myself by journaling far away from civilization” plan seemed brilliant at first. But I’m already over it. All the quiet I thought I craved just makes me obsess over things I’d rather not obsess over.

So much for healing in nature.

Maybe getting tangled up with territorial monsters is exactly the kind of distraction I need.

Maybe I’ll stumble on one of them… alone.

I’m not examining that particular impulse too closely.

The forest is beautiful, sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts. The path—if you can call the faint trail I’m following a path—winds deeper into the woods, away from the lake and the cabin, and the air smells of pine and earth and something sweeter, like honey or sap.

“This is fine,” I mutter to myself. “Just a normal girl-healing-from-heartbreak nature walk. No ulterior motives whatsoever.”

I round a massive oak tree and freeze.

The trail opens into a small clearing, and in its center stands Oren. Or rather, he kneels, his massive form bent over a tiny sapling that he’s carefully tending. His huge fingers, which could easily crush my skull, delicately pat the soil around the base of the young tree. He’s humming—a deep, resonant sound that seems to make the very earth vibrate.

He’s so absorbed in his task that he hasn’t noticed me yet.

I could back away quietly.

Should back away quietly.

Instead, I step on a twig, announcing my presence with a snap that might as well be a gunshot in the quiet clearing.

Oren’s head lifts, those glowing green eyes finding mine instantly. “Lily,” he rumbles, my name in his mouth like stones rolling down a mountainside.

“I was just… exploring,” I say, suddenly awkward. “Sorry to interrupt your… gardening?”

“Not gardening. Healing.” He gestures to the sapling. “Lightning strike killed mother tree. Planting child.”

He rises to his full height, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

I can see now that what I first thought was bark-like skin is actually smooth, covered in tiny patterns—swirls and whorls like the rings of a tree, interspersed with moss and lichen that seem to be growing right on him. Small flowers—bluebells and tiny white stars—bloom along his shoulders and down his arm.

“That’s… actually really sweet,” I say, genuinely touched. “You’re not what I expected.”

His head tilts. “Expected monster. Got monster.”

“Yeah, but a monster who plants trees and has flowers growing on him?” I gesture to the blooms on his shoulder. “Not exactly the terrifying forest troll vibe.”

“Still dangerous,” he says, but there’s something almost like a smile in his voice. “Could break you.”

“But you won’t,” I say with surprising certainty.

“No,” he agrees. “Won’t break. Want to protect.”

He takes a step closer, and I notice he smells like fresh earth after rain, like growing things in soil. It’s intoxicating in a way I never would have imagined.

“Can I ask you something?” I don’t wait for a response. “Why are you three so interested in me? I’m nothing special. Just a regular human having her quarter-life crisis in a rental cabin.”

Oren considers this, his eyes never leaving my face. “Smell different. Special. Like…” He searches for words. “Like forest after fire. New growth. Strong.”

“That’s… poetic.”