Page 169 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

The forest whispered awake around him. It started with a single whistle. Then another. Then a chorus—warbling, trilling, layered birdsong weaving through the branches. Birds flitted from tree to tree, dropping to the grass to peck the soil, swooping low enough that he tensed on instinct.

Their songs echoed all around him. And then, quiet as breath, Brannon’s voice surfaced. Your ma had the sweetest voice. Like songbirds in the morning. Couldn’t stop her once she started.

He blinked. The memory was so sudden, so clear, that it froze him in place. He’d never had memories of her. Too young when she’d died. Gone before he’d had the chance. But the memory was there anyway—pleasant and startling—like a door he’d never even knew existed. Finding his father again must have unlatched something he hadn’t even known how to reach.

The birdsong swelled, bright and alive, echoing his father’s words. And for once, his first thought wasn’t of grief. Not what had been taken from him. It was of Wren and what she’d given him back. He still didn’t know what he’d say when he saw her. Words were impossible.

But he could give her this. Maybe it was a start.

Dawn was breaking in streaks of pale gold when Orzen approached Wren and Jessa’s shared cottage. The windows were still dark. He wasn’t afraid this time. He was eager to show her, and worried she’d miss it if he delayed too long. Still, his steps slowed the closer he came.

“This is stupid. It’s Wren,” he muttered, hesitating at the bottom of the porch. “You’re a grown man. Just knock.” He drew a long, slow breath and marched up the steps.

The door opened before he got there.

Wren blinked blearily at him—wide-eyed, clothing rumpled from a night that clearly hadn’t offered much sleep—wrapped in a cloak like she was on her way out. She stared up at him like she wasn’t entirely convinced he was real. Worry and relief tangled in her expression.

Something twisted under his ribs at the sight of her like this—unguarded, soft at the edges, opening the door before he even knocked. His brain supplied the extremely unhelpful image of pulling her into an embrace and—Gods, focus…

“Uh—hi. Good morning,” he managed, voice rough.

She brushed her hair back behind her horns, concern softening her expression. Then she stepped outside and shut the door quietly behind her, as though she was worried Jessa might somehow sense a conversation happening from fifty paces away.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, voice low and tender.

He shrugged, “Not really.” Then took her hand before he could think better of it. Her palm was warm and soft. He doubted he’d ever get used to that feeling. “But I’m fine. I…” He nodded toward the lake. “I have something I want to show you.”

“Did you want to talk first?” Her brows knit. “Or are we running off somewhere with zero explanation?”

“Yes.”

Her lips twitched in response, almost a smile. The tiny motion rattled him, but he brushed it aside.

“Oh, and…bring the pastries,” he added. “Might as well have breakfast there.”

She blinked at him once, then slipped quietly back inside. When she returned with the basket over her arm, he tugged her gently down the steps, releasing her hand at the bottom with a reluctance he hoped wasn’t obvious.

“So you’re really not going to say where we’re going?” she pressed as they walked in the early light. “I mean…are you okay? You ran out so fast I—”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I needed to think for a bit.”

“I thought maybe…” She hesitated, the basket gripped tight in her fingers. “I was worried I’d made everything worse somehow.”

He stopped short. “No,” he said firmly. “You didn’t.”

It sounded defensive, and the apprehension in her eyes never eased, so he made himself look at her. That was a bad choice. Her eyes shone in the light and it made his thoughts slip sideways.

“I swear you didn’t,” he said, finally.

“Would you tell me if I did?” Her voice was small, like she was afraid of the answer.

“I would.” Then he flashed a lopsided grin and said, “Remember, I promised I wouldn’t lie to you. We’ll talk when we get there. I don’t want you to miss this.”

She nodded, but her gaze stayed on him as he walked ahead, studying him like he’d handed her a puzzle without all the pieces.

The patch of brush the emberkit led him through looked different in daylight. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d found the right spot until he discovered his own scuffed boot prints in the dirt. He held the branches aside.

“We’re walking into a shrub,” she observed, the edge of humor peeking through her confusion.