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CORA

T he night smelled of ozone and desperation.

Cora Thorne’s boots slapped the cobblestones of Blackwick Square, the cramped market on the borderline of the human world.

Vendors had long since taken down their tents and closed their windows but lights still blazed on causing eerie shadows to fit the night.

Somewhere behind her, Elric’s laughter chased like broken glass.

Mine, little fae. You promised me forever.

“Not tonight,” she breathed, voice trembling.

Cora ducked into an alley, fingers already weaving the sigils for a protection ward.

She’d practiced the spell a thousand times.

Easy as breathing, Mama used to say, but panic knotted her will.

A bead of crimson from a cut on her palm marked the first circle, silver glamor lit the second, and a third ring, green as old forest moss, closed around her ankles.

The ward should have shimmered like a flower opening?…

but the colors snagged. Swirled. Inverted.

“Oh, don’t you dare?—”

Magic detonated, yanking her backward through a tunnel of churning mist. Cold wind howled in her ears, carried the bite of pine sap and river stone, and then everything went blinding white.

She landed hard on her hip, the breath smashing right out of her lungs.

When the world steadied, Cora was facedown on a forest floor, cheek pressed to damp moss.

A hush blanketed the ancient oaks that were so thick she’d never wrap her arms halfway around one, and each trunk pulsed with faintly glowing runes.

Moonlight filtered through heavy boughs, turning the mist to silver ribbons.

“Where in Titania’s name?…??” She pushed onto her elbows, but dizziness washed through her skull in nauseating waves.

The ward had misfired, flinging her who-knew-where rather than building a safe circle.

Typical. Her magic always behaved when she didn’t need it and threw a tantrum the second she did.

Cora rolled to her knees, brushing leaf litter off her leggings. A root the size of her forearm arced across the clearing, then shifted. Shifted. It slithered an inch to the left, coiling like a resting serpent.

“That’s perfectly normal,” she muttered, aiming for levity and landing nearer to hysteria. “Just a strolling root, nothing to see.”

The forest ignored her sarcasm. Branches creaked overhead, though no wind stirred them.

Somewhere deeper in the gloom, water lapped slow and rhythmically as though a giant heart beat beneath the ground.

She’d never felt anything quite like this place: not the hectic bazaars of Faerwyth, not the glittering stone amphitheaters of Dunslow where her coven once gathered, not even the wild, lawless edges of the human realm she’d traveled for a decade.

This forest watched her. And she had the distinct, unsettling impression it was deciding whether she belonged.

Cora swallowed. “Easy now. If the land’s alive, be polite.”

She rose, brushing stray vines from her hair. Pale strands clung in damp ringlets around her face, and a streak of dirt smeared across her jaw. Her pulse throbbed behind her ears, but curiosity sparked, too. Fae blood loved mystery, even when mystery arrived wrapped in mortal danger.

A milky wisp of fog curled around her calves. It smelled faintly of lilacs—home—and the ache in her chest blossomed. Don’t think about there . Don’t think about Mama’s garden or Papa humming off-key lullabies. Don’t think about the night Elric’s red-stained hands reached for her throat.

She shook herself. “Focus, Cora.”

A halo of witch-light flickered to life in her palm, offering a soft glow.

She inspected her surroundings: broad ferns, bluebell clusters, mushrooms that glimmered violet under the spell’s light.

Everything here was suffused with a kind of gentle magic she hadn’t felt since childhood—until the root moved again.

This time it rose a full handspan off the dirt, arching like the spine of a waking cat.

“Well, that’s enough nature for me.” She sidled to the left, only for another root to slither into her path like an eager puppy. Mist thickened, curling up her calves, tugging at her hem. The trees, impossibly, seemed to lean closer.

“No, thank you,” she told the woods, voice quavering. “I am not staying.”

As if in answer, a low hum rippled through the air, rattling the witch-light. The glow strobed once, twice and winked out. Dark swallowed the clearing.

Cora’s heart hammered. “Okay, okay—new plan.”

She spun, searching for any gap between the trunks, and spotted a faint shimmer to the east, almost like moonlight reflecting off water. A lake? Good. Lakes usually meant open space, maybe even a path. She bolted that direction, boots skidding over slick leaves.

Roots lifted to trip her. Vines lassoed her ankles. Mist clawed at her jacket sleeves with cold, wet fingers. Every breath came ragged, dragging air thick as syrup into her lungs. Yet she pushed on, muscles burning, spell book slamming against her side with each stride.

She broke through a stand of silver birch and stumbled onto a narrow trail. Ahead, water gleamed black under the moon—serene, mirror-still. The sight was so eerie and beautiful that for a moment she forgot her fear.

Then the trail shuddered.

“Seriously?” Cora snapped.

The dirt path rippled, like a rug someone jerked beneath her feet. She pitched forward, arms flailing, and crashed to her knees. Sharp pain flared. “Ow!” She ran her fingers along a torn seam in her leggings; blood welled where a rock had sliced skin.

Overhead, an owl hooted low and mournful. She pressed a shaky hand to her wound. “Get a grip, Thorne.”

Something unseen brushed her shoulder. She whirled but saw only mist ebbing away.

Panic flared hot then cooled into icy resolve.

She couldn’t keep running blind . She needed shelter, and she needed it before Elric tracked her signature here.

Stars knew the bastard could follow a trail of her spilled magic like a hound on scent.

Drawing a breath, Cora pressed both palms to the earth. “Easy now. I’m not your enemy,” she told the woods. “Just passing through, promise.”

Magic answered in a soft sigh. Leaves rustled.

The mist thinned. The root that tripped her earlier settled, sinking flush with the ground.

Encouraged, she pushed a tendril of fae power outward calm, gentle, the way Papa taught when talking to bees.

I honor your boundaries. Will you show me safe passage?

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then a faint glow sparked beneath her fingers that was gold, blue, gold again and it rippled across the trail, and faded. Cora’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

She rose, wiping dirt from her palms, and limped toward the lake’s edge.

The water reflected the moon with uncanny sharpness; standing so still, it felt like stepping up to a doorway made of glass.

A narrow pier jutted five feet out. Beyond the water’s mirror sheen, on the far shore, she spied warm pinpricks—lanterns? Houses?

“A town,” she breathed, hope swelling. If she reached it, maybe she could beg supplies. Maybe even lose herself among strangers for a night before moving on. One step at a time.

The pier groaned under her weight. Boards flexed but held firm. Halfway across, she paused, staring at her reflection: pale hair tangled with leaves, green eyes wide as forest pools, freckles dusted across her nose like constellations gone rogue. She might’ve laughed if she wasn’t shaking.

“Great first impression, Cora.”

A ripple broke the water just behind her image. She spun, but moonlight danced on perfect glass again. Gooseflesh prickled along her arms. She’d sensed no creature, no magic signature. Yet the feeling of being watched returned, heavier than before.

“Probably fish.” Though fish, last she checked, did not send currents of raw power thrumming through the air.

Cora inched back to shore. The second her boots hit dirt, the pier boards stilled. She exhaled. “Okay. Okay. ”

A rumble answered—low, feline, distant.

Every instinct screamed predator . She turned slowly, scanning the tree line, but shadows lounged silent. Still, the hairs on her neck refused to settle. If a large cat lived here, she wanted no part of it.

“Shelter, then gone,” she whispered.

She trudged along the lakeshore, following the faint lantern glow on the far bank. Each step jostled her aching hip; each breath frosted in the chilled spring night. Thoughts drifted to warm taverns, cinnamon tea, friendly faces—luxuries she’d traded for constant flight.

Even so, a stubborn spark at her core refused to snuff. Hope, Mama called it. Stupid, Papa said, but smiled when he did. One day you’ll find a place that feels like belonging, sunshine. Wait for the hush in your heart—that’s how you’ll know.

Cora had laughed then, but standing now in this uncanny forest, she sensed an almost-hush—like the world exhaled around her.

A root curled gently across her path, as though guiding rather than trapping. She stepped over, murmured thanks, and limped on.

Ten yards farther, her vision blurred. The wound on her knee bled steadily, and whatever adrenaline kept her upright began to ebb. She tried to conjure light, but her power sputtered. It was spent, frayed at the edges by travel and fear.

“Just a little—” She pressed forward. The warm glimmer of lanterns doubled, tripled, swam. She blinked hard.

The ground heaved. She staggered, lost her balance, and collapsed against a mossy log. The forest’s hum crescendoed until it drowned her heartbeat. Mist swaddled her shoulders. A pulse that seemed ancient, resonant, passed through the soil into her bones.

Cora’s eyelids drooped. She fought, clawed for consciousness, but exhaustion clawed back harder. In her final lucid seconds she thought she heard boots crunching gravel, a deep male growl vibrating the night air, and the clean scent of pine and warm spice curled through the mist.

Then darkness claimed her, gentle as a lullaby.