The Last Bloom

Watched

Her eyes shone towards the neon wolf sign casting a flickering blue glow through the misty window. The blood-ink note burned in her mind: The forest waits.

Her mother's journal felt like a lead weight in her bag, its aged pages whispering secrets she couldn't yet decipher. Her cracked phone lay dark beside her untouched coffee, the silence of no new messages amplifying her growing anxiety.

"Earth to Lyra," Mavis waved a hand in front of her face. "You've been staring at that window for like ten minutes. The caffeine's supposed to go in your body, not just sit there looking pretty."

Lyra forced a smile, grateful for Mavis's steady presence. "Sorry. Just... thinking."

"About the weird stuff or about Ethan?

Because those eyes have 'boy drama' written all over them." Mavis took a loud sip of her iced coffee, the straw making that empty-cup gurgle.

The mention of his name made her heart flip uncomfortably. That kiss at the bonfire... the way his hands had trembled slightly against her waist, the unexpected gentleness from someone usually so reserved. And then nothing. Radio silence for months, as if it had never happened.

"I don't even know anymore," Lyra admitted, her finger tracing the rim of her mug.

"Everything's jumbled."

"Well, speak of the damn devil," Mavis whispered, her eyes widening as she stared over Lyra's shoulder.

Before Lyra could turn, the scent hit her—pine and something wild, earthy. A presence that seemed to fill the space behind her. Her pendant warmed against her skin, a gentle, insistent pulse that matched the sudden quickening of her heart.

"Lyra."

His voice had roughened since she'd last heard it, a low timber that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She turned slowly, preparing herself, but the sight of him still knocked the breath from her lungs.

Ethan stood there, taller than she remembered, his broad shoulders tense beneath his worn flannel shirt. His eyes, those forest-green eyes that had once looked at her with such warmth, were shadowed, wary. A new scar, jagged and angry-looking, sliced through his right eyebrow.

His dark hair was longer now, curling slightly at his collar, and a faint stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked older. Harder.

"Hey," she managed, hating how small her voice sounded.

"Can we talk?" His gaze flicked toward the window, scanning the street outside with a strange vigilance. Something was wrong. She'd never seen him this on edge, like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap.

"Sure, have a seat," Mavis said brightly, though her eyes narrowed with protective suspicion. "We were just discussing Lyra's newfound fascination with wolves."

Something flashed across Ethan's face—Panic? Recognition?

He hesitated, then slid into the booth beside Mavis, directly across from Lyra. Under the table, his leg bounced with nervous energy.

"Wolves?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Lyra studied him. This close, she could see the exhaustion etched into his face, dark circles beneath his eyes. A thin line of dried blood marked his collar, barely visible beneath his flannel. Had he been hurt?

"Just... dreams," she said cautiously.

"Dreams," he repeated, as if testing the word.

His finger tapped against the table, a rhythm that seemed to match the thrumming of her pendant. "What kind of dreams?"

Mavis's phone buzzed. She glanced down, then back up with an exaggerated sigh.

"Damn, my mom needs me to pick up Leo from practice. Sorry to bail, Lyr." She gathered her things, shooting Ethan a warning look. "Play nice, Mystery Boy."

Once Mavis had gone, silence stretched between them, the café noises fading to a distant hum. Outside, the rain began again, soft patters against the window like impatient fingers.

"You've been avoiding me," Lyra said finally, her voice steadier than she felt.

"It's not like that." Ethan ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it ached. How many times had she watched him do that during late-night study sessions, when he'd get frustrated with a particularly stubborn math problem?

"Then what is it like? Because one minute we're..." The memory of his lips on hers, soft and uncertain, flashed through her mind. "And the next, you're gone. No calls, no texts, nothing."

His jaw tightened. "It's complicated."

"That's what people say when they don't want to tell the truth."

Ethan leaned forward, his eyes suddenly intense. "The truth isn't always safe, Lyra."

A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the café's aggressive air conditioning.

"What does that mean?"

His gaze dropped to her throat, where the pendant lay hidden beneath her sweater. Something like recognition flickered in his eyes.

"You're wearing it," he said quietly.

Lyra's hand instinctively rose to the crescent moon pendant. "How did you—"

"Who gave it to you?" His voice was urgent now, all pretense of casual conversation gone.

"My dad. For my birthday." She hesitated.

"Why?"

"Has anything strange happened since you put it on? Dreams? Visions? Plants acting weird around you?"

Her coffee cup rattled slightly against the saucer. How could he possibly know?

"Who are you, really?" she whispered.

A shadow seemed to pass over his face. "The same guy who helped you pass Chemistry junior year. The same guy who held your hair back when you got sick at Tyler's party. The same guy who..." His voice softened.

"Who's never stopped thinking about you, even when he had to stay away."

"Had to? Why?"

Ethan's eyes darted to the window again.

Outside, a hooded figure stood beside the wolf statue across the street, motionless despite the rain. Something about their stillness sent a crawl of unease up Lyra's spine.

"We need to go," Ethan said suddenly, his voice tight. "Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's happening." Lyra crossed her arms, stubborn despite the fear blooming in her chest.

Ethan reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. An electric current seemed to pass between them, warm and familiar. "Lyra, please. I can explain everything, but not here.

Not with them watching."

"Them? Who's watching?"