Being back with Brooks felt like breathing again after weeks of drowning. Everything around us had shifted—the packlands revived, the gardens full of color, and laughter returning to the halls. Brooks was patient, attentive, and full of hope again. Every time he reached for my hand or wrapped his arms around me, I felt that tether we shared grow stronger.
But underneath all of that comfort was something else—something I couldn’t quite explain.
It started as the faintest sensation, barely noticeable. A prickle on the back of my neck when I was alone in the hallway. A flicker of movement in the corner of my vision that vanished when I turned. It was like a whisper without a voice, always just behind me. At first, I chalked it up to nerves. Everything was still fresh. The grief, the healing
