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ROLLO

R ollo spent the afternoon pretending everything was fine.

He repaired a broken section of the chicken coop fencing.

Hauled in a fresh load of enchanted straw for the thistle hares.

Sprinkled anti-rot charm dust along the garden beds that had started to show signs of creeping blight.

All while doing his best not to replay every second Delilah had spent at the sanctuary that morning.

It didn’t work.

Her laugh still echoed off the rafters, soft and surprised like it had snuck out before she could stop it. The way her fingers had brushed his, and how she hadn’t yanked them away like touching him would burn her.

He’d been ready to lock that part of himself up and throw away the key. But now? Now she was here, with her wild hair and sharp tongue and bruised kind of softness—and the bear inside him had started pacing.

Restless. Alert.

Hopeful.

Which was dangerous.

Because hope was the first thing to rot when things went wrong.

By late afternoon, the sun dipped low, casting the trees in warm gold. He rubbed a hand across chin and muttered to no one, “Need a damn reset.”

And there was only one place in town he could think clearly.

Hazel Fairweather’s garden didn’t grow—it listened .

Which was saying something, considering it was the only place in Celestial Pines where the plants literally moved when you talked to them.

He walked the familiar path past the edge of the sanctuary and into the curve of the southern woods.

Hazel’s home looked like a fairy tale, forgetting it was supposed to end happily—moss covering the roof, flowers blooming directly from the walls, and an ever-present hum in the air like lullabies carried on the wind.

He knocked gently, twice.

No one answered, but the door creaked open anyway.

“Hazel?” he called, stepping into the twilight-laced sitting room that always smelled like sugarplums and mint.

“In the grove,” came the singsong reply from somewhere behind the house.

He followed the voice out through a crooked back door and into the garden that never stayed the same shape twice.

Hazel Fairweather stood at the center of it all, barefoot and serene, tendrils of blooming lavender twisting through her silver-streaked curls. She turned slowly, her pale bark-brown skin glowing faintly in the shade of the oaks.

“Well, well. The bear comes out of his cave,” she said, eyes twinkling.

Rollo gave a sheepish shrug. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“That’s usually when folks find their way here.”

Hazel walked to a moss-covered bench shaped like a crescent moon and patted the space beside her. “Come. Tell me what’s gnawing at your gut.”

He sat heavily, resting his elbows on his knees, watching the way the vines curled protectively around the base of Hazel’s skirts.

“It’s Delilah,” he said after a moment.

Hazel’s lips twitched. “Of course it is.”

“She’s back… working part-time at the sanctuary when she isn’t taking care of Wren. Said she doesn’t trust me but wants to.”

“Mmm.” Hazel plucked a violet from behind her ear and twirled it. “And how does that make your bear feel?”

“Unhinged,” Rollo admitted. “He’s pacing. Restless. Every time she walks by, it’s like I’m breathing again.”

Hazel’s expression softened. “You never stopped loving her.”

“I did everything to forget her,” he muttered. “Thought I had. But one look and it was like… no time passed at all. Like my body never got the memo that she left.”

Hazel laid a hand on his shoulder. It felt like being steadied by roots.

“And now you’re scared,” she said, not unkindly.

He nodded, jaw clenched.

She tilted her head, flowers blooming between the strands of her silver-touched curls. “Because loving her means letting her in again. And letting her in means risking the pain.”

“And losing her again would wreck me.”

Hazel nodded slowly, then looked at him like she saw not just the man but the boy he used to be—the one who had loved Delilah with everything he had, and still bolted when it got too big.

“But you didn’t lose her, Rollo,” she said gently. “You pushed her.”

He flinched, just a little. But didn’t deny it.

“She was yours,” Hazel continued, voice steady. “Fated. Chosen by something older than blood and wiser than soul. But you ran from it. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust yourself .”

“I wasn’t ready,” he muttered, shame threading through the words. “I thought if I claimed her, I’d lose myself—or worse, I’d lose her.”

“So you broke her first,” Hazel said softly, not accusing—just truthful . “Hurt her before she could hurt you.”

He exhaled, rough and sharp. “I thought I had time. To figure it out. To grow into what she needed.”

“She didn’t ask you to be perfect, Rollo,” Hazel said. “She just wanted you to stay.”

“I didn’t know how,” he whispered.

Hazel gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Well, now you do.”

“I ruined it.”

“You delayed it,” Hazel corrected. “Not destroyed. Time ain’t always the enemy.”

The garden rustled softly around them. A few sunflowers turned toward Rollo like they were listening, leaning closer in the hush.

Hazel leaned closer herself, her voice dropping to a murmur. “But that’s not the only reason you’re here, is it?”

He hesitated, then said, “The forest’s off.”

Her face grew serious. “You feel it too?”

“It started small—animals restless, wards glitching. But the last few days… it’s worse. And the phoenix pup? He wouldn’t eat until Delilah came near.”

Hazel nodded once, slow and solemn. “The forest is stirring, Rollo. Old things waking up. Magic shifting. And your past…” she paused, fingers brushing petals that hadn’t bloomed a second ago, “Your past will test your future.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer directly. “You ever seen trees cry?”

Rollo shook his head.

“You will. If you’re not careful.”

Silence fell again. He looked at the garden, the way it pulsed like a living heart. Even it was anxious. Even it knew something was unraveling beneath the surface.

“What should I do?” he asked, voice low.

Hazel’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Be brave enough to love her. And strong enough to protect more than just your heart this time.”

He nodded slowly, rising from the bench.

Hazel smiled and tucked the violet into his shirt pocket. “For clarity,” she said. “You’re going to need it.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough.

As he turned to go, Hazel called softly after him, “And Rollo?”

He looked back, the weight of the past hanging between them like storm clouds.

“Delilah’s not the only thing coming home,” Hazel said, her eyes shadowed now. “Watch the shadows.”