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CALLUM

T he woods didn’t rustle this morning. They listened.

Callum walked the narrow path to the Council Glade with slow, measured steps, every part of him tense. Mist clung low around the tree roots, and a blue jay darted overhead, squawking like it had something urgent to say. He didn’t stop to listen. Not today.

The earlier incident still burned in his chest like kindling set too close to the flame.

He could still feel the jolt of Cora’s magic lashing out.

The way her eyes had widened with fear when the backlash hit.

That curse, whatever it was, curled around her magic like thorns around a stem—alive and unpredictable.

Still, she wasn’t the enemy. His gut knew it, even if his training barked otherwise.

He crested the slope where the Glade opened up in a wide circle, stones etched with runes forming the meeting ring.

Dappled light filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the moss-covered ground.

Varric Thornwell sat near the center, regal as always, his long gray braids resting over his shoulders like woven branches.

His wolf eyes followed Callum’s approach, unreadable and steady.

Beside him sat Miriam Caldwell, hands folded over her knee.

Twyla leaned lazily against one of the carved stones, sipping tea like she had all the time in the world.

Emmett Hollowell and Maeve stood at opposite ends, both still as sentinels.

Edgar Tansley hovered near the edge, face pinched in thought.

Cora stood alone near the center, back straight despite the obvious tension in her shoulders. Her braid hung down her back, a few strands coming loose, and her shirt was wrinkled from pacing. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

Callum’s chest pulled tight.

Varric’s gaze shifted toward him. “You witnessed the event firsthand?”

Callum gave a short nod. “I did.”

“And your report?”

He folded his arms. “She attempted to mend a point in the Veil. Alone. Without telling anyone. Her spell overloaded, and her curse reacted. There was a surge. It stopped short of damage, but it could’ve been worse.”

Varric turned his focus back to Cora. “Is that how you’d explain it?”

Cora drew in a breath. “Yes. I felt something was wrong in that spot. I thought maybe I could help stabilize it. I didn’t expect it to spiral.”

“Why did you go without notifying the Council?” Miriam asked gently.

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” Cora said. “I know I’m still new here. I thought if I could prove I was trying to help—” she paused, her voice faltering for just a second “—then maybe I wouldn’t be watched like a threat.”

Twyla made a small sound, part snort, part sigh. “Sugar, that’s not how this town works. Secrets stick out louder than truth.”

Callum watched her hands twist together. The Cora from the other day—sunny, stumbling over small talk, enchanted by wildflowers and baking herbs—was still there. But now she was edged by uncertainty. And something else he couldn’t name.

“You didn’t mean to cause harm,” Varric said. “But intention alone doesn’t shield a town.”

“I understand that,” Cora said, chin rising. “But the Veil responded to me. It didn't reject me. Maybe it needs me. I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I swear I’m not here to break anything.”

Callum looked at her again, really looked this time. The shimmer of magic still clung to her skin like pollen in the air. She wasn’t standing like someone who wanted power. She was standing like someone bracing for rejection. And gods, wasn’t that a familiar shape.

Varric’s expression didn’t change. “Magic is not trust. Proximity is not permission.”

Callum cleared his throat. “I can keep a closer eye on her.”

Every head turned toward him. Cora’s eyes widened.

Varric’s brow lifted, but his voice remained even. “Closer than daily reports?”

Callum nodded once. “I’ll shadow her. Not just patrol overlap. Full contact. If the Veil shifts again, I’ll feel it. If she tries another spell, I’ll know.”

Twyla smirked into her tea. “Shadowing, hmm?”

“Supervision,” Callum corrected, ignoring her grin. “This is about protection. For the town and for her.”

Miriam spoke up. “And is this supervision your choice, Callum, or your lion’s?”

He didn’t answer right away. That was the problem. He didn’t know.

Something about her drew him like heat to a sunbeam, like instinct wrapping around curiosity and digging in. His lion didn’t growl when she approached anymore. It leaned in. And Callum didn’t like the confusion that came with that.

“It’s my decision,” he said finally.

Varric tapped a thick finger against the stone arm of his seat. “Then it is settled. You will supervise her integration. Any further interference with the Veil must be approved in advance. You are responsible for her movements within town limits.”

Callum nodded again.

Cora’s mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself. Her gaze flicked to him, questioning, maybe wary.

The meeting dissolved slowly, council members rising and dispersing with soft murmurs and careful glances. Twyla lingered just long enough to brush a hand over Cora’s arm and mutter something that made her smile, then vanished down the path like a breeze.

When it was just the two of them, Callum stepped beside her. They stood under the trees where shadows bled long across the moss.

“I didn’t ask you to volunteer,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“So why?”

He glanced at her, blue eyes catching the gold flecks in hers. “Because you’re not a danger. But you are a risk. And Hollow Oak doesn’t do well with unknowns.”

She looked away, arms folding over her chest. “I’m not trying to be a mystery, Callum.”

“Like I’ve said before, you already are.”

The words sat between them for a long time. The forest creaked above them, soft and slow like it was waiting too.

“I’m not good with rules,” she said finally. “I mess up. I act first sometimes. But I never, ever mean to hurt people.”

“I know.” He paused. “That’s why I’m staying close. Not to catch you. To stop things before they get worse.”

Her smile was faint but real. “So I’m a walking hazard.”

“You’re a wild card.”

“And you’re a control freak.”

He gave a low grunt. “We’ll figure it out.”

They walked side by side down the narrow path, the air rich with pine and damp leaves. Her fingers brushed his once, light as a moth wing. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t lean in either. But he noticed.

His lion noticed too. That was the part that unsettled him most.

Back in town, the lanterns hadn’t yet been lit, but dusk was coming quick. She paused at the bottom of the inn steps, turning toward him.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For not leaving me alone in there.”

He didn’t say anything, but he stood there until she went inside. Then he turned back toward the woods.

Callum didn’t know what came next. And that, more than her magic,, was the thing that kept him pacing.