Page 8

ROLLO

R ollo had always respected the silence of the woods. Respected its rhythm, its breath, its balance.

But that night—under the full Pink Moon—the stillness went sharp.

He was waist-deep in the underbrush beyond the sanctuary’s boundary, foraging for wildheart root by lanternlight, when the pain hit him. Sudden. Deep. Right behind the ribs.

He staggered.

His hand clutched his chest like something had reached through his sternum and yanked.

Not pain exactly. Not physical. But tethered.

Delilah.

Her name echoed in his bones before he could stop it.

Then everything else—reason, caution, even the ache in his shoulder from hauling crates earlier—just fell away .

He dropped the basket of herbs. Let the lantern crash against a mossy stump. And ran.

The bear came fast—claws beneath skin, senses sharper than thought.

It took over like it always did when instinct called louder than logic. He didn’t shift fully, not this time. Just let the strength bleed through, his limbs looser, faster, his breath stronger.

The Whispering Woods parted like they recognized him. Or maybe they didn’t recognize who he was anymore.

But they led him. Straight to the clearing. And that’s where he found her.

Wren knelt in the dirt, her shawl smeared with ash, face drawn and furious. Thistle paced in a tight circle around a body.

Delilah’s body.

He hit his knees before his thoughts even caught up.

“What happened?” His voice cracked, raw and jagged.

“She went too deep,” Wren said, voice shaking but steady. “Tried to read the forest under the full moon. Spirits screamed at her. Something in there fought back.”

He looked at Delilah.

Still. Pale. A red welt along her jaw. And her lips—gods, they were too still.

“She spoke before she collapsed,” Wren continued. “Said the forest is under siege. Not natural. Not rot. Something’s moving in it like a sickness.”

Rollo brushed the back of his hand against Delilah’s cheek. “She’s cold.”

“Pulse is steady,” Wren said. “But she’s not waking.”

That did it. That cracked something.

Without another word, he slid his arms beneath her.

She was light and limp.

“Where are you taking her?” Wren asked, though she already knew.

“Home,” he said.

His.

The walk back to the sanctuary felt longer than it should’ve. Each step came with a whispered memory—Delilah humming under her breath, laughing at his clumsy attempts to bottle honey, scowling when he forgot to label the salves properly.

She didn’t belong limp like this. Not her.

“I got you,” he murmured, over and over. “You’re okay. You hear me? You’re okay.”

He hadn’t felt helpless in years. Not since the day he let her walk away.

And now, with her in his arms, the helplessness came back like a ghost with claws.

At the cabin, he shouldered the door open, nudging it shut with his foot. Laid her gently on the couch near the fire. Threw on every blanket he had. Lit candles without thinking.

She still didn’t stir.

“C’mon, Dee,” he whispered, kneeling beside her. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me wonder again what life’s like without you.”

The fire snapped. Her fingers twitched. And then, slowly— mercifully —her eyes fluttered open.

At first, just slivers of hazel. Then wider. Confused. Fuzzy.

“R-Rollo?” she croaked.

His breath left him all at once. “Hey there. Welcome back.”

She tried to sit up, wincing. “What?—?”

“Don’t move.” He eased her back gently. “You passed out. In the woods. Wren said the forest pushed back.”

Delilah closed her eyes. “It did. I— I felt something. Not a spirit. Not wild magic. It knew me.”

Rollo reached for a damp cloth and dabbed the scratch along her jaw.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said quietly. “And Wren,” he quickly added.

“I scared myself,” she whispered. Then, softer, “But I had to try. Wren’s too weak. Someone has to figure out what’s poisoning the land.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

Their eyes locked.

The firelight made her skin glow like warm honey. Her hair, still messy from the wind, spilled across the couch like ivy. And her fingers curled into the blanket like she didn’t know how to let herself be cared for.

Rollo reached out. Just brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered a second too long.

“You were always too stubborn for your own good,” he murmured.

She didn’t pull away. But Rollo forced himself to.

He cleared his throat. “You can take my room tonight. Get some rest. I have some tea that will help you sleep and settle the nerves. I have some things that will help, you know where they are if you find yourself feeling any… pull again.”

Delilah stared at him a moment and nodded once with a small smile before getting up. “Thanks.”