Page 4

CALLUM

C allum hated council days. Always had.

He stood on the outside of the Council Glade, arms crossed tight across his chest, jaw clenched.

The spring morning filtered through the canopy in dusty streaks, dappling the moss with gold.

Wind rustled the leaves overhead, but the trees were still listening.

They always did when the council met. Old magic hummed underfoot.

He could feel it. Not the usual sleepy pulse of the Veil doing its job, either. This felt like tension. Like something watching, waiting, curled just below the surface.

And it had started the second that fae woman stumbled out of nowhere.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Cora stood beside Miriam on the carved stepping stones.

Pale green fabric hugged her figure like it had been stitched just for her, the kind of shade that made her skin glow and her hair look like moonlight caught in motion.

She had even braided fresh ivy into it. The damn forest had probably offered it willingly.

Callum scowled and faced forward again.

Of course she’d made friends with the trees. Of course she smelled like lilacs and sugar and trouble.

He didn’t trust it. Not one bit.

Behind him, footfalls crunched soft on the moss. A familiar voice broke the quiet.

“You know, if you keep glowering like that, your face is gonna stay that way.”

Callum turned his head slowly. Maeve leaned against one of the twisted stone columns that marked the Glade entrance, her short black hair tucked behind one ear, arms folded to mirror his.

She wore her usual leather vest and jeans, and the amused smirk that had driven him nuts since they were cubs.

“Still got your sarcasm holstered,” he muttered. “Must be a good morning.”

“Oh, it’s great. Got a fresh bottle of hawthorn mead chilling back at the bar. Might even share it if you stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling.”

Maeve tilted her head. “You always scowl when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said.

She grinned. “Sure you’re not.”

Cora reached the Glade’s center, nodding politely to the other seated council members.

She moved like sunlight trickling over water, all softness and curiosity.

Not once did she seem intimidated. Not by the weight of magic in the air or the veiled stares of the council or the way Callum stood like a mountain with arms crossed like a drawbridge.

That should’ve annoyed him more than it did.

“Cora Thorne,” Varric’s voice boomed through the Glade like distant thunder. “Step forward.”

The wolf elder sat on a stone carved into the shape of a stag’s skull, long silver braids draped over his shoulders like cords of moonlight. His eyes, the color of rainclouds, tracked her every movement. When she stepped up, he lifted a hand.

“You entered Hollow Oak through the Veil last night, uninvited. Yet the forest permitted your passage.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, voice steady. “I cast a protection spell and it misfired. I didn’t expect it to open a door.”

Varric’s gaze narrowed. “And yet the door opened for you. Curious.”

She nodded once, lips tight. “I don’t pretend to understand why. But I didn’t come to harm anyone.”

Callum shifted his weight, instinctively tracking the emotions rippling off her. Nervous, but not deceitful. Her magic buzzed soft as bees, restrained but crackling with old energy. Fae. Wild. Untrained.

Varric turned his head, slow and deliberate. “Callum.”

He stepped forward.

“Yes, Elder.”

“You found her. You carried her in. And you felt the Veil’s pulse, did you not?”

“I did.” He didn’t elaborate. Varric hated excuses.

“The Veil favors her. Or fears her. Either way, she stays. But she stays watched.”

Callum felt suddenly like a babysitter instead of a guardian.

“No one else can monitor her safely,” Varric said. “She responds to you. You will report on any further disturbances. If the Veil continues to shift or show signs of weakness, you will act accordingly.”

It wasn’t a request.

Callum clenched his jaw. “Understood.”

Cora looked over at him. She didn’t smile, but something in her eyes softened. Like she was grateful. Like she knew the kind of order he just got handed and didn’t resent him for it.

Which made it worse.

“Miss Thorne,” Varric said, “you may remain in town. But be aware. We do not take kindly to chaos. If the Veil cracks, if harm comes to Hollow Oak through you, there will be no second chances.”

“I understand,” she said again.

And she meant it. He could hear it. She was scared, sure. But not because of them. Something else chased her. Something worse than the council.

Maeve stepped up beside him, her voice pitched low.

“Well, congratulations, big cat. You’ve got yourself a houseguest. Or a very magical barn cat. Maybe both.”

“I didn’t volunteer.”

“Didn’t have to. The Veil already picked.”

He growled low, quiet. “She’s not a pet.”

Maeve blinked innocently. “Didn’t say she was. But if you end up sniffing after her tail, don’t pretend I didn’t warn you.”

Callum turned back to the circle, but Cora was already speaking with Twyla, laughing softly, pointing up at the trees like she was naming stars. Like she had always belonged here.

He didn’t like the way that twisted something warm in his gut.

After the meeting, they walked back toward the inn in tense silence. Cora hobbled carefully on the trail, her steps steadier now, though she still favored the bruised knee.

She spoke first.

“You didn’t look happy to be assigned to me.”

“I wasn’t.”

She looked sideways at him, but not offended. Amused, somehow. “Honest. That’s refreshing.”

“Didn’t say I disliked you. Just don’t trust what I don’t understand. You’re a walking mystery.”

Cora nodded slowly. “I guess I am. But I’m not the threat here.”

“The Veil disagrees,” he said.

“It hasn’t been gentle with me,” she said softly. “But it didn’t throw me out. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t have a response for that.

They passed through a grove where foxglove clustered thick around the trunks, their purple bells nodding in the breeze. Birds flitted overhead, and the air grew warmer, sweeter, as if even the town itself was leaning in to hear what Cora would say next.

She reached out and touched a low branch, fingers brushing new leaves.

“I’m not trying to break anything,” she said. “I’ve done enough breaking for one lifetime.”

Callum watched the way her shoulders hunched, just for a moment, before she caught herself and straightened again.

“Then maybe stop trying to fix everything too,” he muttered.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“Just, don’t make things worse while you’re here.”

Cora smiled faintly. “Is that your version of a welcome?”

He didn’t answer, but he did move just a little closer as they turned the corner into town, walking shoulder to shoulder.

A few townsfolk nodded their way. A witch mended a cracked lantern with a whisper and a flick of her finger.

A panther shifter swept his porch with too much attention, clearly eavesdropping.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, but not an unfriendly one.

And though Callum told himself this was duty, only duty, his lion wasn’t convinced. Not with the way her scent settled in his lungs. Not with the way her voice lingered in the quiet after. Not with the way the Veil pulsed like a heartbeat every time she stepped closer to him.

Something had shifted, and he knew it wasn’t just the magic as his lion began pacing at her closeness.