JOVANI’S POV
The rain began with the subtle rhythm of memory. Soft, insistent, threading between the wooden beams of the lodge like a forgotten song.
I stood hunched over the healer’s table, the scent of dried herbs and timeworn parchment curling in the corners of the room. The scrolls were open again, scattered in a half-circle, lit by the dull glow of oil light. I had read the same three lines for over an hour, but none of it stuck.
Something else clouded my mind.
The memory of her scent during training still lingered, faint but imprinted. That moment had burned itself into my senses like truth. One I hadn’t yet named aloud.
The wind picked up outside. Then came the downpour.
And with it, was her. Ellie.
“Maela?” Her voice was breathless, soaked through. “I brought the golden sage
