Chapter 17 Chloe
CHLOE
The cottage felt too quiet.
Chloe stood at her kitchen window, watching the last light fade from the sky. Dusk painted everything in shades of purple and gray, the bare trees at the very edge of her property turning to silhouettes against the darkening horizon.
Something felt wrong.
Not wrong like the sour soil or the dying plants. This was different. A prickling at the back of her neck, an awareness of being observed. She scanned the tree line, looking for movement.
Nothing.
Just shadows and silence and the creeping cold of another January evening.
She turned away from the window and made herself a cup of tea she didn't really want. The kettle's whistle was too loud in the empty cottage, and she jumped at the sound before laughing at herself.
"Get it together," she muttered.
But the feeling didn't fade. Even as she sat at her small kitchen table, hands wrapped around the warm mug, she couldn't shake the sense that someone was out there. Watching. Waiting.
Her phone sat on the table, dark and silent. She thought about texting Corin, then immediately dismissed the idea. And tell him what? That she had a bad feeling? Yeah, that didn’t sound desperate.
He'd probably come over anyhow. That was the kind of thing he did now. Showing up when she needed him, defending her to strangers, walking her home like she was something precious.
You do matter to me. I thought that was obvious.
She took a sip of tea and tried not to think about the way he'd looked when he said it. The steadiness in his eyes. The quiet certainty in his voice.
Why did she care so much?
The question had been circling in her head since she'd left him standing on the street. She'd almost reached for him. Almost closed the distance and touched his arm and let herself believe that the warmth in his gaze meant something more than sympathy.
But she'd pulled back. Because hoping was dangerous. Every time she'd let herself believe she belonged somewhere, that belief had been ripped away.
Maybe she just wanted someone in this town to not see her as an outcast. Maybe Corin's defense had felt so significant because he was the first person in months who'd looked at her and seen something other than suspicion.
That made more sense than the alternative, being that Corin Vane, steady and patient and impossibly kind, might actually feel something for her.
Ridiculous.
She finished her tea and set the mug in the sink. The prickling sensation was still there, that awareness of being watched. She needed to move, to do something with her hands, to stop sitting here spiraling into thoughts she couldn't afford.
The garden.
It was dark, but there was enough moonlight filtering through the clouds to see by. And she hadn't checked the soil since this morning. With everything spreading, she needed to stay on top of it.
She pulled on her coat and boots and stepped outside.
The cold hit her immediately, sharp and biting. Her breath fogged in the air as she crossed the small yard to the raised beds she'd built last spring. The plants here were dormant, sleeping beneath a layer of mulch, but even sleeping plants could tell you things if you knew how to listen.
She knelt beside the nearest bed and pulled off her gloves.
The soil was cold against her bare fingers. She pressed her palm flat, the way she always did, and waited.
At first, there was nothing. Just the familiar sensation of earth beneath her hand, dense and quiet. Then, slowly, something else began to filter through.
Intent.
Not hers. Not the soil's natural rhythm. This was something layered on top, woven into the ground like thread through fabric. A presence that didn't belong and its purpose…
She'd felt the wrongness before, the sour stillness that came with the spreading sickness. But this was different. This wasn't passive contamination. This was active. Deliberate. Like someone had reached into the earth and left a piece of themselves behind.
She pulled her hand back, her heart pounding. The prickling at her neck intensified. Someone was watching her. She was certain of it now.
She stood slowly, scanning the darkness beyond her yard. The tree line was a wall of black, impenetrable. If someone was out there, she'd never see them.
"Hello?" Her voice came out braver than she felt. "Is someone there?"
No answer. Just the whisper of wind through bare branches.
She backed toward the cottage, her eyes fixed on the trees. Every shadow looked like a figure. Every rustle of leaves sounded like footsteps.
Inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
What was that?
The intent in the soil. The sense of being watched. The way both feelings had arrived at the same time, overlapping and intertwining until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
Her hands were shaking. She stared at them, at the dirt still clinging to her fingertips, and tried to make sense of what she'd felt.
Corin had said someone broke the well seal deliberately. That the contamination was intentional, not accidental. What if whoever did it had left more than just poison behind? What if they'd left something of themselves, some trace of magic or will that lingered in the earth?
And what if they knew she could sense it?
The thought made her stomach turn.
She forced herself away from the door and moved through the cottage, checking windows, pulling curtains closed.
The feeling of being watched faded as she sealed herself inside, but it didn't disappear entirely.
It lurked at the edges of her awareness, a low hum of wrongness she couldn't quite shake.
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen table. She jumped, then felt foolish as she picked it up.
Wendy.
She answered, grateful for the distraction. "Hey."
"You sound tense." Her sister's voice crackled through the speaker, distant as always. "What's happening?"
"Nothing. Just a long day."
"Liar."
Chloe laughed despite herself. "I felt something in the soil tonight. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. Intent, I think. Like someone left a piece of themselves behind."
“That's significant."
"What does it mean?"
"It means your gift is waking up. The land is trying to tell you something."
"That's not helpful."
"It's not supposed to be helpful. It's supposed to make you pay attention." Wendy's voice softened slightly. "You're connected to that place, Chloe. More than you realize. Trust what you feel, even when you can't explain it."
"Everyone here thinks I'm poisoning the land."
"Are you?"
"No."
"Then they're wrong." Simple. Certain. "Stop worrying about what they think and focus on what you know."
Chloe sank onto the couch, exhaustion settling into her bones. "There's someone here. A man. He's been defending me. Helping me figure out what's happening."
"The bear."
"How did you..."
"I know things." Wendy's tone was unreadable. "Be careful with him."
"Why?"
"Because bears love deep. And you've spent too long convincing yourself you don't deserve that kind of love."
Chloe didn't have a response, especially when her sister randomly knew more about her and what was going on then she would ever share.
"Get some sleep," Wendy said. "Things will be clearer in the morning."
The line went dead as it always did with Wendy’s cryptic talks.
Chloe sat in the dim light of her cottage, her sister's words sounding familiar. Bears love deep. Freya had said the same thing. Like it was common knowledge. Like everyone could see something she couldn’t.
She thought about Corin's hand on her wrist. The heat that had shot through her, electric and warm. The way he'd looked at her afterward, like she'd changed something fundamental between them.
She thought about his voice in the Mercantile, calm and certain. The way he'd walked her home without being asked and said she mattered to him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
What if it wasn't pity or guilt?
What if Freya was right, and something real was growing between them, something that had very little to do with the land sickness or the accusations or any of the chaos swirling around them?
The thought was terrifying.
She'd spent so long building walls. Protecting herself from the inevitable moment when people realized she was too strange, too different, too much trouble to keep around. If she let those walls down for Corin, if she let herself believe he might actually want her, the fall would destroy her.
But what if she was wrong and the real danger wasn't in hoping but in never letting herself try?
She didn't have an answer or know how to reconcile the fear with the longing, the doubt with the desperate, stubborn hope that refused to die no matter how hard she tried to smother it.
Eventually, she forced herself to stand. To turn off the lights. To climb into bed even though sleep felt impossible.
The feeling of being watched had faded, but the intent she'd felt in the soil lingered in her memory. Someone had touched the land with purpose.
And somewhere in the darkness, Chloe was certain, they were waiting.