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“No.” He points behind me.

I turn.

At the edge of the field stands something tall. Too tall. Human-shaped. Barely. Not the Harvest creature. Something older. Simpler. A silhouette beneath the moon. Branches rise behind its head. Not antlers. A crown.

It doesn't move toward me.

It bows.

My blood freezes.

Every person at Ward Farm bows with it.

Malakai whispers something.

“What?”

His eyes remain fixed on the figure. “The Harvest wasn't waiting for a Bride.”

Ezra looks at my wrist. At the field. At the three seeds rooted into their hands. Then at me. “No.”

I swallow.

“What?”

His eyes meet mine. “It was waiting for its Keeper.”

The thing beneath the moon raises its head. The corn around us whispers. Not Bride. Not McBride. Not sacrifice.

One word.

Hundreds of thousands of leaves moving together.

KEEPER.

The three kernels embedded in the men's palms pulse.

My mark answers.

And somewhere deep beneath Ward Farm… something begins to hatch.

16

Ripe

Sage

Something begins to hatch beneath Ward Farm.

There are things you expect to think about in your lifetime. I’m late. I’m broke. I shouldn’t have had that last drink. Maybe even… I just had sex with three immortal men during an ancient fertility ritual.

Fine. Life gets weird.

But this?

This feels excessive.

The ground splits. Not cracks.