Page 101 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

Jessa took it. Her voice was steady but quiet as she read. Hearing it spoken aloud made it less of an accusation and more like a sentence already passed. When she finished, Garin grunted.

“Should’ve expected it. We need a plan now. Can’t wait around here. Fist’ll find us sooner than later. Can’t go back safely.”

Calen glanced over Jessa’s shoulder, brow furrowing.

“Where else is there to go?”

The mark on Wren’s wrist pulsed faintly, humming in rhythm with the drone of insects and birdcalls rising from the underbrush. Leora. A faint hope born on black raven wings filled her. Velhya’s Glade. It was the only place left that made sense. A place that might have answers.

“I might know somewhere safe in the forest,” she said, drawing it from her belt pouch.

The parchment was wrinkled and softened by travel, but still legible. The others were watching her carefully now. No one suggested traveling deeper into the Virewood on a whim.

Jessa leaned in first, eyes skimming the words, a slow grin tugging at her mouth. “Is this real?” she asked, voice hushed but full of awe. She passed the letter and map to Orzen, who read quietly, his thumb tracing the inked line through the woods as Wren explained.

By the time the paper reached Silas, their faces carried the same expression—a fragile mixture of doubt and hope. Silas unfolded the map, eyes narrowing at the glade’s marked crest near the top.

“A hidden place deep in the Virewood that the Witherborn have never found?” Silas murmured incredulously. “Sounds convenient.” He folded the letter and handed it back to her.

Wren swallowed. He was right, wasn’t he? She’d wanted to believe in something safe. Something good. Maybe she was being naive. But she wanted answers, not just escape.

Jessa put her hands on her hips. “I want to know what you think, Wren.” She shot Silas a glare. “I want it to be your choice. But if it helps—I’m going with you. Whatever you choose.”

“I suppose if you’re set on it, I could help lead you,” Silas grumbled. “I was intending to be in the Virewood anyhow.”

Wren’s eyes burned. She blinked the tears back. “He’s right, though. It might be a trick.” Her voice came out rough and thick.

Orzen stood across from her, and she tried to ignore the way his eyes followed her as she pressed the folded crease in the paper between her fingers—as if her choice mattered more to him than his own.

Her thoughts returned to her mother and Brunna, all the others still back in Thistlehold. Wren could return there, but to what end? It would put them in more danger if she were around. They didn’t need Theordrin’s eyes on them any more than she did, and her mother would never let him take her without a fight.

Finally, she whispered, “What if it’s real? Look at the Cycle, the forest, the plants growing wilder, the Witherborn…everything’s changing.” She brushed her mark with her thumb, its pulse warm under her skin. “I need to know how I’m connected to it.”

The clearing quieted, then Calen’s gentle voice rose from the back. “I trust you,” he said, steady and sure. “Not that my opinion holds much weight.”

Such a simple thing, but he was wrong. His words meant more than he knew. There was a weight to Calen now. He seemed older. Grief had carved anguish into his stillness, but he carried himself with the same calm presence he’d always had.

“What you think does matter to me,” Wren told him softly. The others were waiting, watching her, so she said, “I need to see this through. Even if I go alone. I’m a part of this,” she said, waving toward the forest, “even if I didn’t ask to be.”

“Honestly?” Jessa beamed, “kind of excited.” She grabbed Wren’s hand. “You feel it, right? We’re part of history now. Following in the Warden’s footsteps.” She paused, bouncing on her toes. “When do we leave?”

Branwynn shifted Tommick on her hip. “We’re going too. I can’t risk Tommi—not with whatever Theordrin’s planning. I’d take a Witherborn over that elf any day. At least their intentions are clear.” She met Silas’s eyes. “You don’t know any of us. If you want to play scout, we’ll take you. If not, we’ll make do.”

The air stilled as they looked at Silas. He inclined his head slightly. “No, you’re right.” His tone was gentle, practiced. “I’ll lead you—if you still want me to come.”

She tugged on one horn, trying to focus. She didn’t know the forest. And Silas had led the others back safely. He’d walked into the dark alone and returned unscathed. Whatever lay ahead was a mystery, but it would certainly be dangerous, and she couldn’t refuse help from someone still willing to give it.

“Come with us,” she said.

The words were more necessity than trust.

Silas nodded once. “Please forgive my sharpness. We’re all a little scattered right now.” He looked relieved when she nodded. “If you’re ready, we can make good ground if we start soon.”

They began to pack as the light strengthened, the forest stirring to muted life. Wren tightened the straps on her satchel and crossed to Garin.

“I didn’t get to talk to you much yesterday—” She hesitated, taking in the grief carved deep into his face, settled there like moss on stone. “Are you okay?”

“Not yet.” His voice was low but steady. “But I will be.”