ELISA’S POV
The little cottage settled into silence. Outside, the forest breathed in a slow, night-time rhythm—an owl’s low hoot, the faint hiss of wind through the pines. But inside my chest, everything churned.
I lay on the new, narrow bed Wren had made up for me, the rough wool blanket around me. The pillow smelled faintly of dried sage and smoke, the scent clinging to the back of my throat. Every time I shifted, the mattress rustled like dry leaves.
Sleep refused to come. Wren said I had blacked out for a few minutes back there before returning to myself. I didn't know what she meant by that. I didn't remember anything. I tried to ask what exactly happened but for some reason she has refused to tell me, saying some things were better left unknown.
My mark throbbed in a steady beat,
