The rain had not stopped by morning.
It came in slow, endless curtains that blurred the edge of the forest into watercolor. The roof of the cottage dripped steadily, the sound almost rhythmic a heartbeat Alex didn't trust.
The woman lay on his cot, pale against the rough wool blankets. She hadn't woken since the night before. He'd cleaned the black veins on her skin as best he could, though they kept pulsing faintly, like living ink beneath her flesh.
He sat beside her, hands clasped, exhaustion pulling at him.
He should have gone to the village for help, but something in him resisted the idea. The sickness whatever it was smelled of magic, and the villagers had never forgiven him for that kind of thing.
He reached for the bowl of water he'd drawn from the well earlier. The surface rippled though the air was still. When he looked closer, he saw not his reflection, but a faint shimmer shapes moving beneath the water, like leaves sinking into endless depth.
He blinked, and the image vanished.
"You're seeing ghosts in puddles now," he muttered.
Behind him, the woman stirred.
Her voice came soft and raw, as though unused for years. "That isn't water you're keeping me alive with."
Alex turned sharply. Her eyes were open wide, silver, lucid in a way that unsettled him.
"What do you mean?"
She pushed herself upright, ignoring the pain that flickered through her features. "It's river water. From the Ashwood's heart. It remembers things."
He frowned. "I took it from the well."
"The well feeds from the river," she said quietly. "Everything here does, now."
Her gaze drifted to the window, where mist pressed thickly against the glass. "The Hollow's veins run through the roots, through the streams. It's spreading faster than I thought."
Alex felt that old prickle of fear crawl up his neck. "You talk as if you know what it is."
She gave a small, bitter smile. "I should. It's been calling my name for a long time."
He hesitated. "Do you remember your name?"
Her smile faded. She looked down at her hands, tracing the black lines that climbed her wrist. "I… remember the river. I remember voices under the water, whispering. And I remember you."
That last part made him still. "Me?"
"I saw you once," she said. "In the dark between the trees. You carried fire in your hands."
His stomach twisted. The ritual. The night the fire burned red and the forest screamed. He rose from the chair abruptly. "You're mistaken."
She tilted her head, studying him. "Am I?"
The silence stretched long between them.
Outside, the forest rustled a sound too deliberate to be wind.
"Listen," she whispered suddenly. "Do you hear it?"
He held his breath.
Then he did hear it faint but clear a low, melodic hum, coming from beyond the cottage walls. Like a woman singing underwater.
The woman on the bed swung her legs off the side. "It's calling."
"Don't move," Alex warned. "You're too weak."
But she was already standing, moving toward the door with an unnatural grace that made his heart lurch. The black veins seemed to glow faintly under her skin, pulsing in rhythm with that distant hum.
She opened the door, and mist poured in thick, cold, alive. The sound grew louder, a lullaby echoing through the trees.
"Stop!" He caught her arm, but the moment he did, the world shifted.
The forest tilted around them, shadows bending in unnatural angles. The ground turned soft beneath his boots, as if they were standing on water instead of earth.
They were no longer at the cottage.
They stood by a river.
The water glowed faintly from within black shot through with silver light. The surface reflected not the sky but faces, pale and watching, mouths moving soundlessly.
The woman knelt at the edge, trembling. "They want me back."
Alex pulled her away. "You can't go in there."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "It's where I came from."
The river began to move against the current flowing backward, defying gravity. From its depths, something stirred long fingers of shadow rising from the surface, curling like smoke.
Alex grabbed her tighter. "We need to go."
The shadows whispered his name again. This time, it wasn't the wind.
"Alex…"
His breath caught. That voice he'd heard it before. Not in dreams, not in madness, but years ago, as fire swallowed the woods.
He forced his voice steady. "Stay behind me."
He drew the bone charm from around his neck and pressed it between his palms. Old words came to his lips, half-forgotten incantations. The charm flared faintly with light enough to make the shadows recoil, the river's glow flickering.
The woman gasped, collapsing to her knees. The black veins retreated slightly, as if burned by the light.
The forest stilled.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the illusion shattered.
They were back at the cottage. The river was gone. Only rain and silence remained.
Alex sank to the floor, chest heaving. The charm in his hand had gone cold.
The woman looked at him, her silver eyes dim but calm. "You shouldn't have done that."
"Why?"
"Because now it knows you're here."
He swallowed hard. "What is it?"
Her gaze drifted to the window again, to the dark line of trees shifting in the mist.
"The Hollow King," she whispered. "And he doesn't like to be refused."