Chapter 17 Harper #2
“You shouldn’t be here,” Sebastian says, voice low, rough at the edges. Not angry. Not yet. But on the threshold of something.
Liam steps forward before I can speak. “We need to talk to you.”
Sebastian’s uncle snorts. “Of course you do.”
Theo moves subtly closer to Liam, tension vibrating off him despite his calm exterior.
The man pushes past Sebastian, stomping toward the cottage door. “Clean up your mess,” he throws over his shoulder. “And then get out of my sight.”
The door slams behind him, rattling the warped frame.
And just like that, the only sound left is the wind scraping through the trees, and the thin, fragile thread of breath caught in my throat as Sebastian turns fully toward us, toward me.
His eyes are no longer furious or guarded.
They’re afraid.
“Why are you here?” he demands.
Sebastian’s question hangs in the cold air, sharper than the wind slicing down from the cliffs. His shoulders square as if bracing for a blow he can’t see coming.
I take a step forward.
“You ran off,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “And it’s not safe here.”
His jaw tightens. “I can handle Myrindale.”
“No one can handle Myrindale alone,” I counter. “Not with the way things have been shifting. Not with the scouts whispering through these woods.”
His eyes flicker, denial and anger, all tangled in a single beat. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“And you shouldn’t have come here by yourself,” I snap back. “We didn’t know what you were running into.”
“You didn’t need to,” he fires. “It isn’t your concern.”
“Sebastian,” Liam interrupts, his voice low but firm, “Harper’s right. This place… it isn’t like it used to be.”
Sebastian whirls on him. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t seen-”
A crash cuts him off.
Wood splinters. Something heavy thuds against the floor inside the cottage. The unmistakable sound of a man cursing follows, Sebastian’s uncle, his voice thick with irritation and something darker.
All four of us tense.
Before Sebastian can react, the cottage door creaks open just a few inches. A small hand, thin and trembling, appears at the edge, gripping the doorframe.
Then a girl slips into view.
She looks no older than thirteen, maybe fourteen.
Pale as moonlight. Long dark hair hanging limp down her shoulders.
A blanket is wrapped around her frail frame, tied in a knot at her throat.
Her cheeks are hollow, but her smile, gods, her smile, blooms bright and warm the moment she sees Sebastian.
“Anne,” Sebastian breathes, all the fight draining out of him in an instant.
Her smile widens. “You came.”
Behind her, her uncle’s bellow shakes the cottage.
“Anne! Get back inside! Now!”
She flinches at the sound…but doesn’t move. Instead she steps fully out onto the crooked porch, the blanket dragging slightly behind her. Her gaze drifts past her brother, to me, to Liam, to Theo. Her eyes brighten, curious despite the exhaustion clinging to her like a weight.
“You brought friends,” she says softly.
Sebastian moves toward her immediately, hand outstretched, protective instinct overriding everything else. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s cold.”
“So?” Anne shrugs, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “You’re never home. I wanted to see you.”
Their uncle appears at the doorway, red-faced, breathing hard. “Anne, I said inside.”
She lifts her chin, more defiant than her frail frame should allow. “I’m not a child.”
“You’re sick,” he retorts. “And it’s getting worse because you won’t listen-”
The moment his voice rises, Sebastian steps between them, blocking Anne completely from his uncle’s view.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” he says, voice low and lethal in a way that promises consequences.
Anne peeks around him to look at me as if searching for reassurance, or confirmation that she’s not imagining all this. Her eyes soften when she meets mine.
“You came a long way,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
Sebastian’s uncle looks ready to burst, face blotched red, jaw jutting, chest rising with the kind of breath a man takes right before unleashing years’ worth of bitterness. He squares his stance, raises a hand as if to shove Sebastian again, and inhales sharply, preparing to roar.
But before he can even shape a syllable, my voice slices through the tension.
“Listen closely,” I warn, tone low and edged like a drawn blade. “Very closely to my next words. And calculate your own with extreme care.”
The effect is immediate.
His uncle’s head whips toward me so fast dust scatters from the porch boards. Sebastian turns, too, his entire body going still as if bracing for impact. Even the wind seems to pause, rustling the rotting thatch of nearby roofs with a cautious, waiting hush.
I let the silence stretch, let the weight of what I’m about to say settle over the sickly village.
“Right now,” I continue, slow and deliberate, “you are standing in a hot zone for the Shadeborne scouts. I would advise minding your tone.”
Sebastian’s shoulders go rigid.
Theo tilts his head, sensing the shift more than hearing it.
Sebastian’s uncle pales, the anger draining from his face as if I’ve cut a vein.
“No...no, the Shadeborne hasn’t released scouts in weeks-” he stammers.
“It is the first week of the month,” Liam interjects, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry the truth like a warning bell. “You know they always come to collect. Best not give them a reason to come early.”
The words land with the weight of prophecy.
A thick silence swallows the clearing.
Even the air seems to recoil, as though the trees themselves understand the danger invoked.
Sebastian’s uncle stands there a moment longer, jaw trembling, his gaze flicking between Liam and me with a fear he can’t mask. Whatever he was about to say gets swallowed whole. He turns stiffly and disappears back into the cottage, the door closing behind him with a muted, uneven thud.
The moment he’s gone, Anne steps forward again, small and fragile under her blanket, blinking up at us with that same soft, earnest smile, as though she’s determined to cling to the little warmth she has left.
Liam and Theo move immediately, gentling their voices, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, doing what her own guardian has failed to do.
I take a step toward her, but Sebastian’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm just above the elbow.
He isn’t rough, but the urgency in his touch is unmistakable.
He pulls me back a half-step until I’m close enough to feel the uneven cadence of his breath. His brows are pinched, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, the kind of stare that demands answers he’s not prepared to hear.
His voice drops low, meant for me alone.
“How,” he whispers, each word sharpened by confusion and something perilously close to fear, “the hell do you know about the Shadeborne?”
His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell me he won’t let the question go.
Not this time.
Sebastian’s grip doesn’t tighten so much as it steadies, as if he’s bracing himself for the truth he’s been circling without ever quite touching.
His fingers curve just beneath the fabric at my elbow, warm despite the chill rolling off the rotting cottages.
His eyes stay on mine, searching, trying to stitch together pieces of me I’ve spent years tearing apart.
I step in, not enough to close the distance, just enough to make him feel it. Enough to make the air shift, to force him to decide whether to pull back or follow.
“Careful,” I say quietly, my voice low enough that only he can hear it. “You’re touching one.”
The words sink in slowly. A crease forms between his brows. Shock flickers in the brown of his eyes, chasing out some of his practiced composure. His hand loosens on instinct, not from fear, but from the weight of what he’s just realized might be standing in front of him.
I tip my chin up, letting the truth hover like a blade between us.
“Still want to know my secrets?”
There’s no taunt in my tone, just a warning, muted and dangerous.
His throat works as he swallows. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, as if reassessing everything he thought he knew.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The village seems to lean in around us, holding its breath, waiting for whatever unravels next.
Liam shifts behind me, sensing the tension coil into something sharp.
Theo angles his head, listening with that uncanny awareness of his, worry etched into the soft line of his mouth.
Before Sebastian can respond, before he can choose whether to question me or pull me closer, a sound splits the air.
A deep crack rolls across the distant ridge, too heavy to be mere branches snapping, too sharp to be anything natural. It echoes off the derelict cottages, crawling beneath my skin.
Sebastian’s hand drops from my arm.
Liam freezes.
Theo’s head snaps toward the tree line, the color draining from his face.
All three of us stand in the dying light of Myrindale, listening as the echo fades into an unnatural silence, one that feels far too familiar.