The woods behind Kade's cabin were older than the town itself. Eden stood at the edge of them now, dawn light threading through the trees like veins of gold. Her breath plumed in the cold air, and behind her, Kade watched in silence, arms folded, every muscle in his body wound tight like coiled wire. "You're sure about this?" he asked. "No," Eden replied. "But I need to know what's out there." Kade didn't move, didn't blink but said "The forest isn't just trees. It remembers. It reacts."
"To what?" Eden asked. He hesitated, "Fear. Blood. Old names. You." That last word hit her like a chill up the spine. Still, she stepped forward. The moment her foot crossed the tree line, the wind shifted. Leaves whispered in voices she couldn't understand. The soil felt damp but warm, like the forest itself was breathing. Kade followed a step behind. "Stay close. Don't speak your full name. And if the trees start to hum, run." "Run where?"
"Doesn't matter. Just faster than what's chasing us." They moved in silence for a while, the world narrowing to branches, birdsong, and the low crunch of boots against earth. The deeper they went, the stranger the light became. Shadows stretched longer than they should. Moss glowed faintly green. More than once, Eden thought she saw shapes watching her, lean forms between trees, blinking eyes vanishing when she looked directly at them. "What exactly are we looking for?" Eden asked. Kade stopped in front of a large, split oak. Its bark had been clawed in symbols she couldn't read. "The Bone Orchard."
She raised a brow. "Sounds welcoming." "It's not. But it's where she'd go." "She?" Yes she, said Kade. "Your aunt. Before she fled, she left markers her, places of power and memory. Some say she even buried things in the Orchard." "What kind of things?" Truths that weren't ready to rise. They walked another half hour before the forest changed again. The air grew still. No birds. No wind. The trees around them twisted unnaturally, bark smooth as skin, branches arched like ribs. Then Eden saw it: A field of bleached white trees, Thin, Leafless. Their roots tangled above ground like skeletal fingers. "The Bone Orchard," Kade said. At the center stood a stone altar. Eden approached slowly. The air here felt heavy, charged. The altar was ancient, cracked and laced with symbols like the one that had burned on her skin. But what made her stop was what lay on top of it: a small, velvet-wrapped bundle. Hands trembling, she opened it. A locket. A folded page. A glass vial filled with dark red liquid. She picked up the paper first. It was a page torn from her aunt's journal: "If you're reading this, Eden, then it's already begun. You were never supposed to come back. But if you have—if you're marked—then the curse is already feeding. The blood in this vial is from the last unbroken line. Use it only when the circle breaks. And whatever you do—don't let the Alpha know you remember him."
Eden froze. "The Alpha?" Kade took the vial gently from her hand, inspecting it with wary eyes. "This blood is dangerous. It carries memory and power. If she left it here… she was desperate." "And the Alpha?" Eden pressed. "Who is he?" Kade didn't answer right away. He walked a few steps away, staring into the twisted trees. Finally, he said, "He was the first to fall. The first cursed. Some say he died. Others say he became something worse. He ruled Silverthorn from the shadows, marked by flame and betrayal." Eden held up the locket. Inside was a tiny photograph. A baby—swaddled, wide-eyed. On the back, in her aunt's handwriting: E.V. Her initials. Eden swallowed hard. "How much of me was a lie?" Kade turned to face her. "Not a lie. Just a secret. Secrets are currency here. And yours is worth killing for." Before she could answer, the trees began to hum. Low. Vibrating. Growing louder. Kade stiffened. "We have to go." Eden tucked the bundle into her coat. "What is it?" The forest is remembering," he said. "And it remembers blood. They didn't speak again until they cleared the tree line. Back at the cabin, Eden dropped the bundle on the table. Her heart still thudded against her ribs like it was trying to warn her. Kade lit the fireplace, then poured whiskey into two mismatched mugs. He handed one to her. She didn't drink. You knew more, she said quietly. About me. About my family. "I suspected," he admitted. "But suspicion is a dangerous thing here. Saying the wrong truth can summon worse things than lies. "I want to remember." Kade looked at her, unreadable. "Then take the vial. Drink it." She stared at the blood, dark and viscous in the glass. "If I do, what happens?" Your memories return. But so does everything else—the bond, the pain and the part of you that doesn't belong to the human world anymore. "And if I don't?" Then you stay unready. And when the full moon rises, you won't survive. Eden held the vial for a long time. Then uncorked it and drank.
The burn was immediate. Fire through her throat. Ice in her veins. The world went white. Memories slammed into her. A younger version of herself, barefoot in the woods with a woman whose her aunt, chanting over a circle of salt under the red moon and then a scream. A boy with gold eyes, standing between her and the thing that crawled from the dark. "I won't let them take you." "I swear it." "Eden—run!"
She came back to herself on the cabin floor, coughing, shaking. Kade was there, holding her, his face pale. I remember, she whispered. His voice was hoarse. "Then it's begun." Outside, the wind howled and far in the distance, a howl answered.