The Offering in the Trees
The journal wasn't hidden well—just shoved behind a chipped vase on the hallway table like someone had meant to throw it out and never got around to it.
Rae didn't mean to open it. She was pacing. Restless. Nova was asleep again, her breathing shallow. The air in the house had a stillness she didn't like. So when the journal slipped out and hit the floor, she picked it up.
Brown leather. No name. No title.
She flipped the cover open.
Day 41 — I keep hearing crying, but not from me. Not from the baby. It's deeper. Like something underneath the floorboards.
She flipped another page.
They say it's normal for the baby to move this much. But sometimes it moves when I haven't. Like it's watching for something. Waiting.
Another.
I woke up and my mouth tasted like dirt. There was ash on the sheets. The midwife says I'm fine. She won't meet my eyes when she says it.
Rae shut the book.
Her hands were shaking.
Nova's cough cut through the silence.
Rae dropped the journal on the dresser and moved fast. Nova was sitting up in bed, eyes glassy.
"Hey, hey," Rae whispered, grabbing a bottle of water. "Here. Sip. Small sips."
Nova's hands were cold. She took a drink, winced, swallowed. "It hurts."
"I know." Rae tucked the blanket tighter around her. "I'll figure it out. I promise."
Nova looked like she wanted to believe her.
Downstairs, Rae found Caelum in the kitchen. He was just standing there. No plate. No mug. Just standing.
"You said she'd be safe," Rae snapped.
His head turned slowly. "She is."
"She's worse."
"Her body's reacting to what's happening to you. The bond doesn't just affect you alone."
Rae moved closer. "Then fix it."
His jaw tensed. "It's not something I control."
"Right," she muttered. "But you brought us here. You let this happen."
"I didn't let anything happen. I tried to stop it."
"Then tell me who did it."
His eyes flicked to her shoulder, then away. "You're not ready."
"Try me."
Silence.
The bathroom mirror was useless.
Rae pulled up her sleeve again. The mark had changed—darker now. Sharper at the edges. The crescent bled deeper into her skin like ink soaking into paper.
She touched it. It pulsed once.
The lights flickered.
She jerked back.
Her reflection stayed still for a second too long. A blink late. It didn't move when she did.
Her breath hitched.
She threw a towel over the mirror.
She didn't even plan to leave.
She just needed air. But when she pushed open the front door, the world outside felt off.
The gate at the end of the long drive didn't open. It stood shut like it was welded in place. The woods beyond it were silent. No wind. No birds. Just… still.
Still, she walked.
The trees swallowed the light. Branches curled low. Her shoes crunched on brittle leaves, but nothing else moved.
Then she saw it—hanging from a branch about eye-level.
A cloth bundle. Wrapped tight. Fresh.
She froze.
Something about it made her stomach knot.
She stepped closer.
Inside: a silver blade, a small pouch of herbs tied with red string, and a piece of torn paper with shaky handwriting.
They're watching you sleep. They don't care if you survive it. But I do.
A second note was pinned beneath:
You are not bound to him. You're bound to something older. Meet me before the mark fully seals. Dusk. North woods.
Rae looked up—and froze.
Someone was standing at the edge of the trees.
He didn't move.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Not Caelum. Different. His eyes caught hers like he already knew who she was.
He didn't speak right away.
She stayed where she was, fingers still curled around the bundle.
"Did you leave this?" she asked.
He nodded once.
"Why?"
"Because you're not safe here."
"You followed me?"
"I waited."
That made her step back.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he added.
"You all keep saying that."
"I'm not like them."
Rae looked him over. "You got a name?"
"Theron."
She frowned. The name sounded… familiar. Like something from a dream she couldn't remember.
Theron looked past her shoulder, toward the estate.
"They want the baby to live. But they don't care if it kills you first."
Rae didn't answer.
"You think Caelum's the worst thing in this story," he said. "He's not. He's just the one who stopped fighting it."
She clutched the offering tighter. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because I remember who you were before they made you forget."
"What the hell does that mean?"
But he was already walking away, disappearing into the trees like he'd never been there.
Back at the house, Rae was sweating and freezing at the same time.
Nova was still asleep. Her breathing shallow but steady.
Rae shut the door, locked it, and paced. She didn't open the bundle again. She didn't touch the mirror.
She sat on the floor with her back to the wall.
And when she finally stood to check the window—
The offering was sitting on her windowsill.
The note on top had changed.
You're running out of time