Splice’s mouth twitched. “Understandable.”
She pointed at the barrier. “Okay, fine, but we can’t get in. And Tamsin definitely can’t.”
The Grove Core twitched inside her chest with an electric, visceral thrum that made her skin prickle.
Splice tilted his head, eyes going distant for a moment. “We crossed the wards before, when you sleepwalked.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But that was different. The Grove Core let me in.”
“It will again,” he said simply. “Do you truly think it will bar someone who means to heal it?”
Goldie stared at him, then sighed, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I hate that you’re probably right.” Her thumbs flew over the screen.Tamsin, let me know when you’re here and we’ll get you in. Don’t ask.
She hit send, the text disappearing into the blue glow of the night.
Goldie reached for Splice’s hand. The instant their fingers twined, the Grove Core stirred.
The ward sigils along the path flickered once, then flared. A crack shimmered across the nearest one, jagged and iridescent, like ice fracturing under pressure. Police tape withered in place, curling into ash. Vines slithered back from the path, parting like a curtain. Moss brightened faintly beneath their boots, lighting a narrow way forward.
Splice glanced toward the trees. “As I said. We’re meant to be here.”
Goldie hesitated, pulse thudding in her throat. Then she nodded. Together, they crossed the threshold.
A low, dissonant hum rose from the ground, vibrating through the soles of her shoes into her bones. The hair on her arms lifted and her pulse skipped. Ahead, a stand of ancient oaks shuddered, their leaves clattering though there was no breeze.
Goldie pressed a hand to her sternum, as if she could quiet the ache blooming outward from the Grove Core pulsing beneath her ribs.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered.
Splice’s head tilted, as if catching a frequency she couldn’t hear. “The land hurts worse than before,” he said at last, his voice taut and low. “It’s good we came tonight.”
They moved on. The hedge-woven path opened into the Grove Core’s heart—a vast, circular clearing hemmed by towering green walls. The air was taut, stretched thin, like the breath before a scream.
Goldie paced the inner curve of the hedge wall, fingertips trailing over leaves and branches that felt brittle where they should’ve been springy, damp where they should’ve been dry. The whole place felt off-kilter, like someone had lifted the Grove Core and set it back down slightly askew.
She checked her phone. 11:38 p.m.
Her throat tightened. “This is weird. Tamsin’s punctual to a fault.”
The ground shuddered. The hedge walls groaned. The air curdled sharp and sour, metallic and fungal, like blood on wet leaves.
Splice’s head snapped toward the entrance of the Grove Core’s heart. “Stay here,” he said sharply.
“But—”
“Goldie.” He closed the distance between them in two strides, cupping her face in his cool, steady hands. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” His thumb brushed her cheek, soft despite the steel in his words. “Please trust me.”
Before she could protest, he was gone, swallowed by the dark.
The dread in her stomach hardened to ice. She drew in a shaky breath and jabbed the call button for Tamsin.
You’ve reached Tamsin Donover. Leave a message.
Goldie lowered the phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. Alone. Utterly alone in the Grove Core’s heart, silence pressing close from all sides.
She turned, scanning the clearing, eyes straining against the shadows pooling between branches and bark and roots.
And from those shadows came a small, sharp, metallic note, alien in this sacred place.
