Blades clear their sheaths before I’ve finished straightening. Her stance shifts—knees bent, ready to move in any direction. Those slate-colored eyes lock onto me with an intensity that should feel like threat assessment but doesn’t. Not entirely.
“Following me was stupid.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. I haven’t spoken this much in years. The words feel awkward in my mouth.
“Letting me follow you was stupider.” She doesn’t lower her weapons. Smart. “If you wanted me dead, the forest would have killed me already.”
“The forest wants you dead. I’m the one holding it back.”
“Why?”
A fair question, and I don’t have an answer I’m willing to give.
“The Consortium hunters.” I step closer. She doesn’t flinch, though her grip tightens on her blades. “They’re burning a path toward the heart of the forest. If they reach it?—”
“Wakes up. You mentioned.” Her chin lifts. Defiant. “What exactly?”
The Thorn King’s hunger presses against my awareness. I push back, but the effort costs me. Sweat breaks out along my spine. The bark-ridges on my forearms ache with a pain that never quite fades.
“An entity that eats everything in its path—one I’ve spent four decades containing.” I’m close enough now to smell her—steel and leather and sweat, and underneath that, a clean sharpness. Alive in a way that nothing in Briargrave has been alive since before the binding. “If it breaks free, it won’t just kill you. It will keep you aware for every moment of your suffering.”
“You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to make you understand.” Another step. We’re an arm’s length apart now. I could reach out and snap her neck before she finished raising her blades. She probably knows it. She’s not moving anyway. “You came here to kill me. Fine. Take a number. But right now, the thing in this forest that wants me dead the most isn’t you. It’s the Consortium, and whatever they’re planning to wake up.”
The pause stretches. Her expression shifts—just a fraction, a tightening around the eyes, a flicker of uncertainty. Then it’s gone, locked away behind a mask of indifference.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” The word comes out harder than I meant it to. “I want you to leave. Go back the way you came. The briars will open for you if you’re trying to escape.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you die here. With me, probably. With whatever the Consortium is about to unleash, definitely.” I hold her gaze. Let her see that I’m not bluffing. “Your choice.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. The forest presses close around us, thorns rustling, vines swaying in the windless air. I feel Briargrave’s hunger like a second heartbeat, slower and darker than my own. It wants her. Wants the blood in her veins,the grief in her heart, the vengeance that brought her to my territory.
I want?—
I cut the thought off before it forms.
“The contract is void if you’re already dead when I leave,” she says finally. “No proof of kill, no payment. And the Consortium doesn’t do refunds.”
“Then you’ll be poor and alive. Better than the alternative.”
“Maybe.” She sheaths one blade. A gesture of—not trust. Negotiation, maybe. “But I didn’t come here just for the money.”
“I know.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “The forest told me. Someone you loved died here.”
Her face goes blank. Carefully, deliberately blank, the way only someone with extensive practice at hiding their reactions can manage.
“The forest talks to you.”
“The forest talks to everyone. Most people just don’t know how to listen.” I force myself to step back. Put distance between us. The closeness is doing things to my focus that I can’t tolerate. “Your partner. Five years ago. Dark hair, shorter than you, carried a crossbow similar to yours but with less draw. The forest remembers her.”
“Cyrilla.” The name comes out raw. “Her name was Cyrilla.”
“She died within days of entering Briargrave. The forest took her quickly—more quickly than most. It wasn’t personal. She was just unlucky.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
