Ember didn't know how long she had been watching him as they walked.
The forest around them breathed—too alive, too freakishly aware—and the stranger walked like he'd been carved out of moonlight with unyielding discipline.
His silver-green eyes tracked her every twitch, sharp and unreadable, as if he were calculating if she was a threat, or merely a stain that needed correcting.
He didn't speak at first, just continued his cold, dissecting study.
Ember, jogging slightly to keep pace, felt her heart hammer against her throat.
He was impossible—beautiful in a cold, eerie way. High cheekbones, long pale hair pulled back in a braid, armor shaped from bark and metal vines. Every clean line of him screamed not human.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, even, and edged like a blade pulled halfway from its sheath.
"You do not belong here."
Ember swallowed the dryness in her mouth. "Trust me, I know that now, much better than anyone."
His eyes narrowed, confusion briefly cutting through the suspicion.
"What are you?"
"I…" Ember dragged a trembling hand across her forehead. "At this point? I don't know what the right answer is anymore."
Her voice cracked on the last word. Great. Crying in front of an ethereal soldier. Wonderful life choices. Fuck you, Liam. Fuck you, Mara.
Ashthorne stepped closer—carefully, like approaching something wounded and utterly unpredictable.
"You carry the scent of… not-forest," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her strange, dirtied clothes. "Your magic is unusual."
"I don't have magic," Ember muttered, annoyed by his certainty.
Ashthorne blinked once—slow, heavy, and utterly disbelieving.
"Everything that breathes has magic."
He studied her again, then asked, "Tell me how you arrived."
"Honestly? I fell through a glowing hole in the ground. I was walking home after a disastrous bar fight, and then—well—gravity simply quit on me."
Ashthorne's whole body stiffened. In surprise.
In undeniable recognition.
The trees around him seemed to tremble, listening.
"That should not have been possible," he said quietly, his gaze suddenly distant.
"The gates are sealed. Only the Queen controls them."
"Well," Ember whispered, dryly. "Maybe someone forgot to lock up?"
"No." His tone snapped with finality. "The forest is still sick. It should not have opened to you, or anyone, without approval."
Sick. That word settled, heavy and cold, in her chest.
Before she could ask, Ashthorne's posture changed—his hand shifting subtly toward a nonexistent blade, eyes scanning the deep shadows.
"Move faster," he commanded, his voice firm. "Something is especially wrong tonight."
Ember didn't hesitate. She shoved down the nausea and pushed her shaky legs forward. Ashthorne shifted—not touching her, but angling his body directly between her and the shadows, a silent, deadly shield.
"Faster," he murmured. "We leave. Now."
The deeper they went, the thicker the glowing, humid fog pressed against her skin. The trees seemed to lean toward Ashthorne, recognizing him, their leaves trembling faintly. Ember heard nothing but the quick crunch of their steps and the distant, unnatural groan of wood far behind them.
Ashthorne moved quickly, but with absolute certainty.
Ember jogged, breathing hard to keep up. "Is this… normal for your forest?"
"No."
Great. Fantastic. The universe continued its theme of passive aggression.
After a stretch of tense silence, she finally found her voice. "So… what exactly are you?"
"Fae," he answered without looking back. "My people."
"And what are fairies, then?"
"Small winged creatures," he said, dismissively. "They tend to the flowers. They craft light and are extremely naughty. They live under our protection.
They are blessed, but not of our rank."
"So like distant cousins?"
"Helpers," Ashthorne corrected firmly, without an ounce of malice.
"Oh," Ember muttered, instantly defensive. "That's… awkward."
"What is awkward?"
There it was again—his crisp, emotionless, literal honesty. It was simultaneously terrifying and the safest thing she'd encountered all day.
Ember tried to steady her breath. "And where are you taking me?"
"To safety." His voice softened just barely, a shift Ember felt more than heard. "My home is close."
She blinked. "You actually live inside this?"
"I guard it," he said simply. "Therefore, I live where I can guard it."
A brutal, practical kind of logic.
After several more minutes, the green glow of the forest thinned, and the heavy, buzzing magic loosened its hold. The air calmed. The trees stopped their quiet whispering.
Ashthorne slowed.
"Do not stray from my side," he warned. "Until we know why the forest opened for you—"
"It didn't open for me," Ember snapped, tiredly. "I'm nobody. I'm the opposite of special."
Ashthorne glanced back at her, the faintest crease forming in his perfect brow. He disliked the emotional turbulence radiating off her. He wondered what unpredictable consequences she carried, and he absolutely hated surprises.
They stepped into a clearing shaped like a natural bowl of soft, luminescent grass and shimmering petals. In the center sat a modest, circular home grown directly from a living tree—roots braided into sturdy walls, leaves forming a gentle roof that glittered like starlight trapped in green glass.
Warm light spilled from the open doorway.
A woman stood framed in the light.
Tall. Graceful. Ethereal, yet grounded. Her hair was white-gold, falling in thick waves. Her eyes were sharp, bright, and assessing—like Ashthorne's, but softened by an impossible warmth. She looked no older than thirty, but something in her steady gaze felt impossibly ancient.
"Ashthorne," she said softly, her voice steady and melodic. "You return late."
He bowed his head with the precision of a warrior.
"Mother. The forest stirred. And I found… her."
The woman's gaze shifted to Ember, and Ember felt like she had been seen through.
Completely, utterly observed.
The woman tilted her head slightly.
"A human. It has been a long time since I've seen a human," she murmured, directing the soft query toward her son.
Ashthorne's jaw tightened. "I do not yet know what she is."
His mother stepped aside, the door glowing warmly behind her.
"Then come," she said. "We will find out."
And Ember, bone-tired, deeply shaken, and completely out of her depth, stepped into the first home in the Faewood that had ever opened its door to her.