EMBER’S POV
The garden had always been my place to breathe.
Even now, long past dusk, I found myself there—barefoot in the dew-damp grass, fingers brushing along the edge of a lavender bush that had started to wilt too early in the season. The moon hung low, veiled behind thin clouds. Everything was still. Too still.
Something wasn’t right.
I couldn’t name it, not really. But it sat in me stomach like a stone. A restless, twisting feeling that hadn’t gone away in days. I tried to shake it off—pacing between the flowerbeds, plucking dead leaves, distracting myself with quiet rituals. Still, the unease lingered, low and gnawing.
My hand settled on my stomach without me thinking about it.
*Something’s coming.*
I didn’t know what. Only that the air felt heavier. Like it was waiting.
