eath plumed in the cold air, and behind her, Kade watched in silence, arms folded, every muscle in his body wound tight like coiled wire. "You're sure about this?"

e moment her foot crossed the treeline, the wind shifted. Leaves whispered in voices she couldn't understand. The soil felt damp but warm, like the

tranger the light became. Shadows stretched longer than they should. Moss glowed faintly green. More than once, Eden thought she saw shapes watching her, lean forms between trees, blinking eyes vanishin

ched like ribs. Then Eden saw it: A field of bleached white trees, Thin, Leafless. Their roots tangled above ground like skeletal fingers. "The Bone Orchard," Kade said. At the center stood a stone altar. Eden approached slowly. The air here felt heavy, charged. The altar was ancient, cracked and laced with symbols like the one that had burned on her skin. But what made her stop was what lay on top of it: a small, velvet-wrapped bundle. Hands trembling, she ope

n swallowed hard. "How much of me was a lie?" Kade turned to face her. "Not a lie. Just a secret. Secrets are currency here. And yours is worth killing for." Before she could answer, the trees began to hum. Low. Vibrating. Growing louder. Kade stiffened. "We have to go." Eden tucked the bundle into her coat. "What is it?" The forest is remembering," he said. "And it remembers blood. They didn't speak again until they cleared the treeline. Back at the cabin, Eden dropped the bundle on the table. Her heart still thudded against her ribs like it was trying to warn her. Kade lit the fireplace, then poured whiskey into two mismatched mugs. He handed one to her

f herself, barefoot in the woods with a woman whose her aunt, chanting over a circle of salt under the red moon and then a scream. A bo

holding her, his face pale. I remember, she whispered. His voice was hoarse. "Th