Page 82 of Property of Scar

“Then this should be interesting,” I reply.

His gaze sharpens, just slightly, and I hold it.

“And either we’re brave…” I add, letting the edge show just enough, “… or we’re stupid.” I shrug, my smile growing wider. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Something flickers in his expression. Not approval but something closer to interest.

I turn, signaling to the others to follow me, and we walk out the same way we came in, the space parting just enough to let us pass. The doors close behind us with a quiet finality.

Only then does the pressure ease.

By the time we step back out into the night, twenty minutes have settled back into something that resembles time again.

All three of us are still standing.

And we have an appointment with the Seelie Queen.

***

We hit the edge of the New Hampshire woods just after dark. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t show up on maps unless you already know what you’re looking for. The path fades out the deeper we go, swallowed by undergrowth and shadow until there’s nothing left but instinct and direction.

The archway is right where it should be. Doesn’t mean I trust it.

Old wood, half grown, half made branches locked together in a way that shouldn’t hold but does.

Ruckus walks through it like it’s a doorway. Rhett and Bennett are arguing like usual as they head through.

I follow.

For a second, nothing happens.

Then the ground shifts under my next step.

Subtle, but enough.

The forest rearranges around us, not changing so much as settling into something else, the air tightening just slightly, like it’s closed in.

I don’t look back.

The trees aren’t scenery here. They are part of the territory.

Everything feels built around them, through them, from them. The structures rise straight out of the forest in sweeping lines of pale stone and living wood, as if the land itself grew them, and nobody was stupid enough to argue with the result.

It’s beautiful, yeah.

But in the same way, a knife can be beautiful.

The same way a predator can be beautiful right before it tears your throat out.

The light comes from nowhere I can identify. It hangs across everything in shades of gold, turning the entire place into something that feels half dream and half warning.

Because that’s the trick of the fae.

Nothing here hides its beauty.

The danger comes attached to it.

Cali walks at my right, quiet since the second we crossed over. Not that the silence means much. I’ve spent enough time around her now to know the difference between calm and alert, and right now she’s wound tight beneath the surface. I catch it in the small things. The way she carries her weight, the way her eyes move, the way she keeps tracking the space around us without looking like she’s tracking anything at all.