Page 10

ROLLO

T he woods didn’t whisper this morning. They hissed.

Rollo felt it the moment he crossed the outer border of the sanctuary—a tremor in the rootbed, a hum in the trees that sounded less like song and more like warning. The forest was unsettled. He’d hoped it was residual—leftover echo from Delilah’s ritual—but this was fresh.

He moved quietly, boots soft on moss and frost-laced leaves, his senses tuned sharp.

Something was off. And he had a gut feeling he knew exactly what.

He followed the unnatural pull, weaving deeper into the Whispering Woods, past the old split-rock altar and into the stretch of hollowed yews where the light didn’t touch. The further in he went, the more the air turned metallic—like blood and wet iron.

Then he saw him.

Garrick.

Leaning against a tree like he owned the land, half-shadowed by the twisted limbs above. Taller than Rollo remembered, leaner too—but with the same jagged grin that had once meant trouble and loyalty in equal measure.

Only now, it just meant trouble.

“Still got that bear gait,” Garrick said lazily, kicking off the trunk. “Heavy-footed. Predictable.”

Rollo’s fists curled at his sides. “Didn’t expect to see you slinking around Pines again.”

“You say that like I ever really left.”

“You were exiled.”

Garrick shrugged, his coat hanging off him like molted skin. It was dark, stained in places Rollo didn’t want to look at too long.

“I was abandoned ,” Garrick said. “Left to rot while you and the others kept playing family without me.”

“You attacked a Council Elder during a transformation cycle, Garrick,” Rollo snapped. “You lost control. Someone almost died.”

“She provoked me. You know how thin the edge gets in moon season.”

Rollo stared at him, jaw tight. “That was three years ago. You didn’t just lose your temper. You fed on corrupted magic. You let it in.”

Garrick’s eyes glinted—too bright, too wild. “Corruption’s just another flavor of truth, brother.”

Rollo bristled at the word.

They’d once been a clan. Practically raised shoulder to shoulder under the same mountain clan, swearing blood-oaths before they even knew what they meant. Garrick had always walked closer to the line than most—but Rollo had never believed he’d cross it.

Until he did. Until he fed off it.

“Why are you here?” Rollo asked, voice low.

“Just checking on the old stomping grounds.” Garrick’s grin turned sharp. “Heard your little witch-mate took a tumble in the woods.”

Rollo’s body went rigid. “Leave Delilah out of this.”

Garrick chuckled. “Oh, she’s very much in it, friend. The forest woke up the moment she came home. You feel it too, don’t you? The pull?”

“She’s none of your concern.”

“On the contrary.” Garrick stepped closer, his boots cracking dead leaves like bones. “She’s the key to the roots. You think the Pact will protect her? It won’t. That girl’s too close to the pulse, and when it snaps?—”

Rollo lunged.

Grabbed the front of Garrick’s coat and slammed him into the tree hard enough to make bark crack.

“I swear to every star in the Pact,” he growled, “if you come near her again?—”

“Or what?” Garrick hissed. “You’ll finish what you didn’t back then? You didn’t stop me before. You couldn’t.”

Their breaths tangled like frost in the cold air.

Then Garrick smiled—slow, deliberate.

“You can’t protect what’s already broken, Rollo.”

Rollo let go, shoving him back.

“I’m not who I was,” Rollo said, breath thick with restraint.

“No,” Garrick said, voice low and uncoiling like a serpent. “But maybe you should be.”

Rollo blinked, the words hitting harder than they should have.

Garrick leaned in, the gleam in his eyes like moonlight on a blade. “Back then, before all this peace-talk and sanctuary fluff—you knew how to fight. How to lead. You didn’t second-guess your instincts, and you didn’t tuck your claws in for people who didn’t understand what we are.”

“I grew up,” Rollo snapped.

“You got soft,” Garrick countered, voice sharp as bark peeling from rot. “You traded your spine for safety and called it growth. Look around, Rollo. That sanctuary? That witch? They’ve made you forget what it means to survive when the woods turn against us.”

Rollo clenched his jaw, fists trembling at his sides.

“I’m protecting what matters.”

“Then you better hope you still remember how to be the man who could.” Garrick gave a final crooked smile. “Because the forest doesn’t care about peace pacts or second chances. And when it calls for blood, soft won’t cut it.”

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, melting into the trees like he was part of them.

Rollo stood rooted to the spot, anger pounding within him.

Maybe you should be.

The words echoed long after the wind swallowed them.

He’d clawed his way out of that version of himself—the hot-tempered, iron-fisted boy who thought strength was loud and love was weakness. That Rollo had let Delilah slip through his fingers because he couldn’t bear the idea of being vulnerable.

And now? Garrick wanted to drag that version back into the light.

He had to tell someone. Hazel, maybe. Or the Council.

But not Delilah.

Not yet.

It wasn’t her concern anyway.

…Was it?

He shoved the thought down.

Turned back toward the sanctuary, boots heavier now, like the forest was clinging to him, trying to keep him in its dark.

When he got there, the scent of rosemary and morning bread greeted him. The cabin’s hearth was lit, casting golden light against the fog still curling outside.

Delilah was already there.

She knelt beside the phoenix pup’s enclosure, murmuring softly as she rearranged the warmed stones. Her hair was loose today, curling down her back, and she wore one of Wren’s old aprons, pockets stuffed with herbs and gloves.

She looked like she belonged.

Like she’d never left.

Rollo stood in the doorway for a moment longer than he meant to.

Delilah glanced up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, masking the catch in his voice.

“You’re late.”

“Got caught up gathering.”

“Everything okay?”

He smiled. Forced it to his lips. “Yeah. Just the woods being moody again.”

She watched him a beat longer, as if trying to read past the mask.

Then nodded.

“Breakfast is on the stove,” she said, standing. “And the pup ate twice. Probably thinks you’re slacking.”

He chuckled, stepping inside. “Good thing I’ve got backup now.”

Their eyes met again.

And for a second, everything else—Garrick, the woods, the warnings—faded into the soft thrum of something warmer.

But Rollo said nothing.

Not about the encounter. Not about the danger. Because for now, he just wanted one morning where the world didn’t crack beneath his feet.