The town sign read:
WELCOME TO BLACKBRIAR — POPULATION: DON'T ASK.
Which felt exactly right for a place where the trees leaned too close, branches tangled overhead like gossiping relatives, and the clouds hovered low and dramatic, as if waiting for applause.
I rolled my suitcase over cracked pavement, the wheels protesting like they'd already decided this town was a bad idea. I tried to ignore the whisper of magic tugging at my bones. I'd been ignoring it my whole life, the way you ignore a weird noise in your house because acknowledging it means you might have to do something about it.
Too late now.
Grandmother's house waited at the edge of town, nestled where the forest thickened and the road forgot how to behave. The town waited. Whatever I was… waited.
The air felt heavier here. Charged. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when everything holds still and pretends it isn't about to explode.
A motorcycle rumbled behind me.
The sound slid down my spine, low and vibrating, and the air suddenly smelled like pine and heat and something sharper underneath. My heartbeat did something irresponsible, like it had just spotted trouble and leaned in for a better look.
"You lost?" a voice asked.
Deep. Rough. The kind of voice that suggested control and patience and a dangerous lack of hesitation. Like it wanted to belong in my life and was already annoyed about it.
I turned.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Still, in a way that suggested nothing about him moved unless he allowed it. His dark gaze caught on mine and held, assessing with unsettling focus, like the moon had just delivered him bad news he secretly liked.
Something inside me stirred.
Not fear. Not exactly.
My magic purred, low and pleased, like it had been waiting for him specifically.
My instincts said: mine.
My brain, which had survived twenty-six years by being very reasonable, screamed: Panic now.
"No," I said, lying with the confidence of a raccoon breaking into a bakery. "I'm fine."
His eyes flicked to my suitcase. Back to my face. His nostrils flared slightly.
Something unreadable crossed his expression.
"Blackbriar isn't the kind of place you stumble into by accident," he said.
"I've got a grandmother," I replied. "She's very… intentional."
That earned me the barest curve of his mouth.
"Be careful," he said, then paused, as if weighing something. "Some things here don't like surprises."
"Good," I muttered. "Neither do I."
His gaze lingered another second too long, heat threading through the air between us, before he stepped back toward the trees. The forest seemed to open for him, shadows bending in a way that made my skin prickle.
As the sound of the motorcycle faded, the weight in my chest remained.
Blackbriar had noticed me.
And I had the unsettling feeling it wasn't done yet.