Page 21

CORA

T he raven landed just past the herb garden.

It flapped down in a flurry of sleek black feathers, perching on the post of her fence like it owned the damn place. Cora blinked up at it from where she knelt beside a patch of catmint, dirt smeared on her hands and a bundle of drying sage tucked in her apron.

The bird cocked its head. Its eyes were too dark, too knowing.

Her stomach dropped.

Then it opened its beak and let the parchment fall.

It fluttered once, landing between the thyme and the tips of her boots. Her breath caught. She didn’t need to touch it to know. Blood stained the edges, sharp and cruel against the tan paper. It bloomed in one corner like an inkblot from something ugly.

The raven cawed once and lifted off, vanishing into the trees before she could so much as swear at it.

Her heart thudded, ears rushing.

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at the parchment while the breeze tugged at the hem of her skirt and the leaves rustled like gossip overhead.

She knew that handwriting. The blood wasn’t necessary. He was here.

“Elric,” she whispered, and bile clawed up the back of her throat.

Eventually, she forced herself to pick up the parchment. Her fingers trembled, but her hands were steady enough to unfold it. The letters were slashed across the page in thick strokes, each one pressed hard into the fibers like he’d tried to scar the paper.

“Mine”

No signature. No need.

She shoved the note into the pouch on her hip and stood, legs stiff from kneeling too long.

Her magic stirred, humming beneath her skin like it always did when it caught Elric’s scent.

It was subtle, quiet as a knife slipping between ribs.

But it was there. That old thread he’d tied around her with blood and lies.

No matter how far she ran, he always knew when she was afraid.

Not this time.

She wouldn’t let him poison this place.

She brushed her hands on her apron and forced her feet to move.

The soil around her herbs had gone brittle.

She reached for her watering can with shaking fingers, lips pressed tight.

She would finish the damn chore. She would pretend she hadn’t just felt her ribs crack under the weight of one sentence.

Because if she ran to Callum now, he’d read the truth in her face.

He knew about Elric. He knew she’d been bound, that she’d broken away, and that something old and dangerous might be waking in Hollow Oak. That was enough. He didn’t need this. Not after that kiss. Not after what he’d said.

You don’t want what I am .

She understood now. The line between them wasn’t just caution, it was survival. He’d made it clear. Keep things professional. Keep things safe.

So she would.

She’d had enough years depending on someone else. Enough time with her magic caged in someone else’s hands. She wouldn’t hand the weight of her past to Callum just because it was heavy. That wasn’t fair to him.

She didn’t need him to carry it. She needed to carry it better.

She wiped her forehead with her wrist and straightened. Her fingers still itched with the echo of that parchment. The smell of blood clung to the inside of her nose. Elric was here. Somehow he’d found her again, even through the Veil’s clever folds. Even through her careful hiding.

But she wasn’t the same girl who’d fled him in the middle of the night, spellbook clutched to her chest, her magic raw and gasping. Hollow Oak had changed her. The forest knew her name now. So did the Veil.

And she wasn’t alone. Not truly.

Even if Callum stood behind his wall, even if he kept himself steady and silent like the guardian he was—she knew where she could go.

She looked down the trail, heart heavy but steady.

Miriam would know what to do.

The older woman had been quiet when Cora first confessed everything back at the Hearth & Hollow Inn, not with judgment, but with that look she had, like she was already fitting the pieces together in her head. Like she understood the way blood could become a tether. Or a weapon.

If anyone in Hollow Oak had wisdom beyond spells and council decisions, it was Miriam Caldwell.

Cora headed for the trail, hand tightening around the strap of her satchel. The forest watched her as she walked, but its hush felt different now. Less threatening. More like it waited for her to make her move.

She didn’t look back toward Callum’s cabin, though every step tugged her chest in that direction.

She’d made her choice.

Handle this herself.

Because even if she was starting to fall for Callum, especially if she was falling for him, love didn’t mean running to someone the minute the sky cracked. Love meant knowing when to stand up on your own.

And damn it, she was going to.