The path out of the forest wasn't the same one they'd taken in. It was narrower, overgrown in places, as if the woods had changed while they were inside.
Ken walked a few steps ahead, occasionally pushing branches out of the way, muttering something under his breath about cursed woods and people who sent others on wild errands.
Severo didn't reply. His attention was elsewhere.
He kept one hand on the strap of his satchel, fingers occasionally brushing against the wrapped bundle inside. The Faery Blossoms. Their glow was soft now, almost imperceptible. But he could still feel them. Or maybe it wasn't the flowers he was feeling—maybe it was something deeper. Something tied to memory. To grief.
His mother had once loved them. That's what the letter said.
But he didn't remember her with flowers.
Just flashes of love. A warm hand. The faint scent of sweet. A lullaby that stopped mid-hum one day and never returned.
"Do you believe in fate?" Severo asked suddenly.
