All week, she’d brought what she could: a basket of pears, a warm loaf of honey bread, a few chores done quietly without asking. Again and again, she’d murmured,I’m so sorry,but the words fell thin and small. What comfort could she offer? Wordscould only reach so far. And maybe that was the truth of it—his sorrow was a place beyond her reach. And maybe, so was he.
Collin let out a breath, and a sad smile touched his lips. His gaze held hers, slow and searching, as if he were seeing a precious moment he hadn’t dared hope for. Then—softly, almost dreamlike—he reached up and brushed his fingers along her cheek, the backs of his knuckles grazing her jaw.
It was the kind of touch only lovers shared. Too familiar. Too tender. Her first instinct was to flinch away. It meant something—too much, maybe—and she wasn’t ready to name it. But she held still.
A strange heat rose in her chest, blooming outward, curling into her limbs like warmth from a hearth after too long in the cold. It was sudden, dizzying—hunger after famine, thirst after drought. A craving not just for his touch, but a deeper pull, something she didn’t yet understand. The sensation rolled through her belly like a tide. Calling her. Daring her to follow.
She gripped the top of the gate, knuckles white. Her hands were shaking. “Collin—” she whispered, but the rest caught in her throat. Her cheeks were flushed, burning. What spell had taken hold of her? “It’s late. I ought to go.”
He blinked, as if waking. Had he noticed? His hand fell away, and the loss of his touch made her ache. A heartbeat later, he pushed the gate open. It creaked mournfully on its hinge.
She walked quickly out of Collin’s meadow, her boots catching in the long grass. She wanted the trees to swallow her, to let their hush drown the confusion churning inside her. And yet, even with her back turned, she could still feel his gaze like a thread tugging at her spine.
At the edge of the woods, she stopped. Her knees trembled. Her pulse thudded like she’d just leapt from a great height—and nothing waited below to catch her but the blue of Collin’s eyes.
Their friendship was no longer simple.
Everything had changed after the boar hunt. But not because she’d saved him—she would have done that for anyone. Not because the sight of the panther had stopped her heart—surely it would have, no matter who lay beneath its claws. And not because he’d asked her to walk with him; it had only been to the market.
Certainly not because of that kiss—barely a brush of her lips to his cheek.
So what was it?
Why could she no longer sleep without dreaming of him? Why did the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, the memory of his arms around her leave her breathless?
A few months ago, Hadria had confided—blushing, breathless—that Aries had finally kissed her. “It felt like fire in my blood,” she’d said, dreamy-eyed. “But slow. Rousing.”
The only fire Dragonfly had ever felt during a kiss was angry fire—when Uriah had tried to press his mouth to hers. But if it were Collin... would there be sparks? Would stars bloom behind her eyes?
She had always wished for romance, for kisses and longing and all the quiet, thrilling things womanhood promised—but something had changed. Those wishes had sharpened, deepened. No longer innocent fancies, they had grown limbs and breath and heat. They followed her into her waking thoughts. They startled her—how her breath caught when her gaze lingered on the fine hairs of his forearm. How her mind slipped, without warning, to the imagined feel of his fingers grazing her skin, his lips at her throat.
Her cheeks burned.
Her sister’s voice drifted to her, “Becoming a woman means wielding power over the hearts and minds of men.”
At the time, she had asked, “What’s the difference?”
Sister had smiled. “You can capture a man’s mind with your body. But when you capture his heart—you hold something much deeper. A soul, not just a thought.”
Dragonfly wasn’t sure she wanted that kind of power. Her own heart could be so easily bruised—how could she be trusted with someone else’s? She’d seen what love had done to the men in her family. The pain they carried when it ended.
How could she ever live with herself if she did that to Collin?
The day was slipping away, and she still had a mountain of chores waiting at home. Rather than pass through Chroma’s crowded village square, she veered onto a little-known shortcut that wound through the North Town forest. Few bothered with it. The path was narrow, overgrown, and steadily reclaimed by the wild. Locals preferred the open roads—safer, if not always faster.
But Dragonfly was no stranger to rough terrain. Her thick overskirt and sturdy boots shielded her from brambles and uneven ground. She knew the forest well—its twists, its silences, its lurking dangers. No matter how obscure the trail, she rarely lost her way. Years of navigating its depths had taught her how to sense the presence of beasts long before she saw them.
As Dragonfly trotted briskly along the overgrown path, her attention drifted from Collin to a raucous flock of jays. The birds shrieked and chattered over a sprawling blackberry bush, plucking the fruit with greedy delight. Even when they spotted her, they refused to budge.
With a huff, she pulled the empty cake pan from her basket—recently returned by Collin—and waved it at the birds. They squawked their protests, but after a few determined swipes, she sent them flapping into the trees.
Triumphant!
She began piling the plump blackberries into the pan. The bushes were heavy with fruit, and soon she was drifting from one thicket to the next, harvesting as she went. She left plenty behind for the birds, of course—but she was so caught up in the task, she didn’t notice anything else... not until it was too late.
First, there was a prolonged sigh somewhere beyond the bushes, and then it was followed by a low groan. Silence fell, but it was rapidly replaced by a zealous giggle.
Why had she even gone to look? Plenty of people walked this path. There was no reason to think the sounds meant anything. Still, curiosity tugged at her, and she stepped away from the blackberry bushes, weaving between tangled trees and low shrubs. She rose onto her toes to peer over a thorny hedge—
