Page 18

CALLUM

C allum had just poured his first mug of coffee when the knock came.

He paused, cup halfway to his lips, frowning toward the door. The sun hadn’t finished rising. Pale gold bled through the trees, but the forest was still caught in the hush between night and day. He hadn’t even pulled on his boots yet.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

He set the mug down with a thud and crossed the floor, flinging the door open with more force than necessary. Cora stood on the step wrapped in a gray cloak, hair damp from the morning mist, eyes wide and haunted. Her hand hovered mid-air like she’d been ready to knock again.

He took one look at her face and dropped the snarl in his throat.

“Get in here,” he said, stepping aside.

She nodded, stepped past him, and into the warm cabin. The door shut behind her with a solid thud. She stayed close to the hearth, arms folded, not from cold but to hold something in. Her whole frame trembled like a bowstring pulled too tight.

He moved back to the table, reclaimed his coffee, took a long sip, then leaned against the counter. “You wanna tell me why you're here before dawn lookin’ like the forest spat you out?”

Cora pulled a folded page from her coat pocket. Not parchment—her sketchbook. She walked it over, laid it gently on the table beside his mug, and stepped back.

Callum stared at the page.

A stone altar. Carved in clawed runes. A jagged crack in the center, glowing red like embers had burrowed deep inside. It was drawn with a kind of painful precision that made his skin itch.

“That’s the Binding Stone,” he muttered.

“No.” Her voice barely came above a whisper. “It’s worse. I saw it. Not just dream-seeing, Callum. I dreamwalked. I was there. I felt it.”

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just watched her as she spoke, voice shaking but determined.

“I’ve been hiding something,” she said. “Because I didn’t know how to explain it. Because I wasn’t sure if it was still following me. But last night… it found me again.”

She looked up. Her eyes shone in the firelight, rimmed red.

“His name’s Elric Durant. A warlock. Older, powerful, smart as hell.

I trusted him once. He bound me with blood magic.

Told me I belonged to him. I broke free, or I thought I had.

I ran for years. I didn’t even know Hollow Oak existed until the Veil dragged me through. I think… I think he did too.”

Callum gripped the edge of the table. His nails bit into the wood.

“You were bound.” He kept his voice low, steady, even though his lion snarled under the surface. “With blood magic.”

She nodded, flinching like she expected him to raise his voice.

“And you didn’t think that was important enough to say?”

Her shoulders hunched. “I didn’t know what it meant here. If it would follow me. If it’d taint the Veil. If you’d throw me out before I had a chance to figure it out.”

He slammed his mug down. It cracked on the rim but didn’t break. The silence that followed stretched thick and heavy.

“Damn it, Cora.”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t. You brought a predator to my doorstep.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “You think I wanted any of this? I’ve been looking over my shoulder for years. And now he’s using something ancient and twisted, and I’m trying to help, but I don’t know how.”

He stared at her. At the tear slipping down her cheek. At the way she didn’t brush it away.

“You should’ve told me,” he said, voice raw. “You should’ve trusted me.”

Her eyes met his. “You barely trust yourself.”

He stiffened, heat flaring up his neck.

“I shared something with you,” she said, softer now. “Your words. Your pain. I held them close and didn’t ask for more. I’m not asking for a miracle, Callum. Just help.”

His breath caught.

He saw her now. Not just the chaos she carried, or the wild magic that followed her like a tide.

But the girl who ran, not because she was reckless, but because she had survived something no one should have had to.

She’d clawed her way to freedom and still looked for light in people. That kind of hope gutted him.

He reached slowly for the drawing, running his thumb along the jagged lines.

“We need to train you,” he said after a beat.

Cora blinked. “What?”

“You wanna help Hollow Oak? You need to be able to navigate the Veil without triggering every wild pulse in the forest. And you need to ground yourself before that magic decides it wants a taste of you again.”

Relief hit her in waves. She nodded. “I can do that.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Her eyes narrowed, the fire returning. “And you’ll stop snapping like a cornered fox every time I breathe too loud?”

“Doubtful,” he said, mouth twitching. “But I’ll try.”

They spent the next hour on the cabin floor. He laid out a chalk circle near the hearth, showed her how to sit inside it, spine straight, palms up. He guided her through breathwork—three counts in, hold, five counts out—over and over until her shoulders relaxed.

“Feel the ground under you,” he murmured. “Let it hold your weight. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

She peeked at him. “You talk like someone who’s done this a few times.”

“I’ve had a lot to ground.”

Her smile was small, but real.

Later, he walked her to the glen near her cottage, just as the sun pushed over the ridge, painting the trees gold. The air held the promise of a warm day, but dew still kissed the tips of every leaf.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

She nodded, pulling her cloak tight. “I’m not alone anymore.”

He grunted. “No, you’re not.”

They stood there, facing each other, neither quite ready to turn away.

“Thanks, Callum,” she said, stepping toward the path. “For not turning me away.”

He watched her go, hair catching the sunrise, shoulders straighter than when she’d arrived. “Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered, voice too low for her to hear. “I’m still figuring out how to protect you without losing my damn mind.”

The wind whispered through the trees. His lion prowled just beneath the surface, restless and ready. But for now, Callum let the forest return to its morning quiet and followed the path back, already planning the next lesson.