The bush swallowed Bella whole.
Every step she took past the treeline, the air shifted. The forest was alive. Whispering. Watching. The branches overhead groaned, leaning closer as the forest itself recognised a new presence.
The prefects who had escorted her stopped where the grass ended. None of them dared cross over. They muttered their last biting remarks, and turned back toward Whitethorn's courtyard.
Bella did not look back.
Her boots crunched over the roots and damp leaves, but her body felt… different. The further she went in, the stronger the thrum inside her chest grew. Her heartbeat no longer sounded like a fragile human rhythm. It was heavier. Wilder. It echoed in her ears like a drum.
By the time she reached the thick, tall, wide trees, Bella realized she wasn't scared.
Not the way she should be. Not the way everyone had expected her to be.
