That afternoon, while checking the farthest edge of the orchard, she noticed something odd: one mango tree was stripped bare of buds, as if something—or someone—had come in the night and taken them all.
She crouched to examine the ground. The soil was disturbed, and faint footprints—too large to be an animal's—led toward the bamboo forest.
A shiver passed through her.
She didn't notice the man in the shadows, watching her from the other side of the trees.
---
He had followed the intruder's trail since dawn. The tracks didn't belong to a villager; they were deliberate, circling the land's edge but never crossing into its heart. Whoever it was, they were testing the boundaries.
The man's gaze shifted back to Bianca. She was kneeling, examining the ground with a thoughtful frown. She had no idea how close danger had come.
He moved silently, placing himself between her and the bamboo forest's deeper shadows. If the intruder returned, they would meet him first.
---
Back at the mansion, Bianca brushed dirt from her hands and went inside. She spent the next hour sketching ideas in her notebook—livestock pens, planting schedules, maybe even a small vegetable garden near the fountain.
She didn't know it yet, but every time she put an idea on paper, the land felt it. Somewhere beneath the soil, roots shifted. Seeds that had lain dormant for years stirred awake.
---
That night, the wind rose. Bamboo stalks clattered together like dry bones.
Kaloy appeared at her door, fur bristling. "Something walks near."
Bianca glanced toward the window. "An animal?"
Kaloy shook his head. "No. Something that wants what you have."
Her stomach tightened. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Kaloy said, eyes sharp, "that it's good you're not alone here."
---
Outside, near the orchard's edge, the mysterious man stood in the moonlight. In one hand, he held a long, curved bolo knife. His eyes swept the darkness beyond the bamboo.
There was movement—quick, deliberate. A shadow detached itself from the trees.
"Not tonight," he murmured, and stepped forward.
Bianca, upstairs, never heard the low clash of steel, the grunt of effort, the rustle of retreating footsteps. She never saw the figure vanish into the forest or the man wipe the blade clean before disappearing into the shadows again.
She only dreamed of mango blossoms opening under her hands, of chicks growing into bright-feathered roosters, of her lolo's voice calling her "Anak."
---
By morning, the footprints at the orchard's edge were gone. The mango tree that had been stripped bare was now covered in buds again.
Bianca chalked it up to her imagination—until she noticed something odd on her front doorstep.
A single mango. Perfectly ripe. No note, no explanation. Just a quiet offering, as if someone had left it to say:
You're safe. For now.
---
End of Chapter 6