Chapter 24
HARDIN
Ismell him before I see him.
Some bitter cocktail of cologne and smug, soaked into every thread of that too-clean suit.
It doesn’t belong here. Doesn’t mix right with the moss and loam and pine that cling to the Hollow like a second skin.
That smell’s sharp, like varnish on rot, and I catch it hanging in the air long after he’s gone.
I’m too late to see the exchange, but I see the way Krista’s standing on the porch, one hand on the frame like it’s the only thing holding her up.
Her fingers are white around the wood, and her eyes are staring straight ahead, focused on something long gone but still clawing at the inside of her chest.
I don’t ask.
I don’t need to.
The fog tells me everything. So do the trees. They’re restless. Not whispering, exactly, just watching. Waiting.
I move up the path and she doesn’t flinch when I reach her. Doesn’t speak. Just lets out this little breath, barely audible, like her lungs were frozen and I just opened the door to let the heat back in.
“He came,” I say, low. Flat. Because if I put anything more into it, the rage will find a foothold, and I won’t stop until there’s nothing left but red.
Krista nods, eyes still far off. “He filed for custody.”
I don’t know how she says it without breaking. Her voice is too calm. Too damn controlled. Like she’s trying to believe if she stays steady, everything around her won’t shake apart.
“He’s not gonna win,” I say.
She doesn’t nod this time. Doesn’t say anything at all.
Instead, she turns, walks back inside, quiet as a ghost. The door shuts behind her with a soft click.
But I don’t follow. I can’t.
My fists are already clenched too tight. And if I walk in there now, I won’t be able to hold it back.
So I stay outside.
And I wait.
Two hours later, I’m in the woods.
Not patrolling. Guarding.
I know every root, every bend of branch, every hidden turn in the winding path around their cottage. I don’t bother with trails. I don’t need them. I move through the underbrush silent as breath, barefoot, bare-chested, scars bright against my skin in the moonlight.
This place is alive, and it breathes with me. It hums low when I pass, warns me when something shifts. And tonight, it’s twitchy. Not dangerous, not afraid. Just alert. Like the forest’s picked a side.
And it’s not his.
I catch the scent again around midnight, thin and smug and trying too hard not to leave a trace.
He came back. He didn’t knock this time. Didn’t approach the front. He circled.
Looking. Hunting.
I find him just past the west edge of the property line, standing too close to the ward-stones, squinting at one like he’s trying to figure out how it works. He doesn’t hear me approach. Doesn’t see me until I’m close enough to see the flash of gold in his cufflinks.
And when he turns, the smirk already forming on his face dies real quick.
“What the hell,” he mutters, stumbling back a step like he thought I was part of the damn trees.
I don’t say a word.
Just keep walking toward him.
He lifts his hands like I’m some kind of animal. “Easy. I’m just… getting some air. Thought this was public land.”
I stop inches from him.
“You don’t breathe our air,” I say, slow. “You don’t walk our soil. You don’t come near that house.”
He tries to square his shoulders, but I see the fear flinch behind his eyes. “Look, I know who you are. The boyfriend. Very territorial. Very noble. But this isn’t a backwoods love story. There are real laws here.”
“You don’t speak for law.”
“I speak for my daughter’s rights. And I’ve got friends in my circle that’d eat this place alive.”
My jaw ticks. Not because of the threat. But because I want to make it true. I want to show him what eating alive really looks like.
“You touch that girl,” I say, stepping forward so our noses almost touch, “and you’ll learn real fast that courts don’t mean shit in the Hollow.”
He scoffs, but his voice trembles. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” I growl, “it’s a promise.”
He stares for a second too long, and I feel it then: his doubt. That crack in the confidence. He’s starting to see the difference between a man who wants control and a man who protects what’s his.
“I’ll file a complaint,” he says, backing up. “This kind of intimidation? It’ll go on record.”
“You think records protect you out here?”
I watch him fumble back through the trees, shoes catching on roots, branches tugging at his stupid blazer. He doesn’t look back.
And when he’s gone, the woods settle again. Not calm, exactly. But satisfied.
Next morning, the council calls me in.
They’re not pleased.
Vess stands straight-backed with that cool stare that always makes me feel like I’m about to be weighed and measured.
Sariah’s got her arms crossed, tapping a finger against her forearm like she’s holding back a storm.
Roderik watches with that lawyer’s stillness, and Therrin…
Therrin just looks amused. Not smiling. Just ready.
“You threatened a civilian,” Vess says, voice clipped. “On protected ground.”
I don’t bother with excuses.
“I did.”
“You know better than this, Hardin. Especially after last time.”
“Last time,” I say, quietly, “nobody warned me a man like that could just stroll into Hollow and demand a child.”
“He hasn’t taken her,” Sariah snaps.
“He wants to,” I shoot back.
The air goes tense.
“You don’t get to make the rules,” Roderik says. “Not in this chamber. Not in this case.”
I nod once, slow. “Understood.”
Vess narrows her eyes. “We’ll let it go. For now. But you go near him again, and it won’t just be a warning.”
I don’t thank them. I don’t apologize. I just walk out.
I’ve got more important things to do.
I spend that night in the trees.
No fire. No light. Just me and the woods and a soft, silent promise curling low in my chest.
They can warn me all they want. They can speak about law and balance and neutrality. But I’ve lived in this place longer than most of them have been breathing. I know what’s sacred. I know what deserves protection.
Krista’s laugh when she reads aloud to Mari from those crinkled library books she loves.
The way Mari curls into her side like she’s still small enough to fit in her pocket.
The way Krista sings when she doesn’t think anyone’s listening, soft and shy and not quite in tune but realer than any song I’ve ever heard.
They’re mine.
Not in the way that means ownership. In the way that means chosen.
And if he tries to take that from me…
No court can stop what I do next.