The air smelled different when morning came. Not clean, not new—just honest. Like the earth had stopped pretending to be anything else.
I walked through the clearing barefoot. The ground was damp, soft under my toes. Every step left a print that filled slowly with light before fading away. Thorn followed a few paces behind, quiet. I think we were both afraid to break the silence, in case it broke us too.
The tree stood where it had been, tall and strange and beautiful. Its roots stretched deep into the soil, veins of silver pulsing slow, steady, like a heartbeat. I could still hear it humming, faint but alive.
Mira was sitting near the edge of the clearing, knees pulled to her chest. She hadn’t slept. Her eyes were red, not from crying but from staying awake too long. When she saw me, s
