# Rowan
Thorne answered instead. “Land response,” he said. “Raw and instinctive but it doesn't seem harmful.”
“Cool,” I said brightly. “Love to be described like a weather system.”
Rowan moved closer to me, “Harper,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”
His face wasn’t judgment and it wasn’t even anger. It was worse: focus. Like I was a problem he wanted to solve and a person he… I don’t know. I don’t know.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Pulled a weed and invented sentient irrigation,” I said. “No biggie.”
Moira’s voice drifted from the porch like she’d always been there. “Don’t crowd her.”
She’d returned without me noticing, which is classic Moira. She came down the steps, skirts whispering, and slipped between Thorne and Rowan like water. Her eyes flicked over the beds, then to my hand
