The morning began peacefully. Too peacefully.
Talia sat cross-legged near the edge of her garden while sunlight filtered through the trees in soft golden beams. Her fingers brushed gently over bundles of drying herbs spread across a woven cloth beside her.
Mint.
Lavender.
Moonleaf.
She could identify every plant by scent and touch alone.
The forest breathed around her, alive and familiar.
And nearby, Nixon watched her quietly while sharpening one of his hunting knives against a stone.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
The sound had become oddly comforting over the past week.
Talia tilted her head slightly toward him. “You are staring again.”
Nixon did not even bother denying it anymore.
“You sit like some kind of forest spirit,” he muttered.
“You say strange things.”
“You attract str
