CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting silver patterns on the forest floor. I watch as the scholar—a man more at home among dusty tomes than the wilds of the mountains—extends a trembling hand to Henry. His vial contains hope in liquid form, a shimmering concoction that promises to undo the inexplicable curse that's bound Henry's inner beast.
"Down to the last petal," the scholar murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, his voice barely rising above the whisper of leaves rustling in the evening breeze.
Henry's blonde hair seems to glow under the celestial glow, and his blue eyes reflect a sky full of stars yet to be seen. He nods, determination etched into the set of his jaw. The loss of his shifting capability gnaws at him, but here, now, there's a cha
