Scarlett’s POV

The stones hum when I touch them.

Not violently. Not angrily.

They recognize me.

I stand at the center of the clearing, moonlight bleeding down through the fractured canopy, silvering the ancient monoliths that have shaped my nightmares for as long as I can remember. The air tastes metallic, charged, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. Every instinct I have screams that this is dangerous.

Every deeper instinct—the one rooted in my bones, my blood, my ...