POV: Jake

“The moment the child chose,” the scout said quietly, his voice thin as parchment, “the land stopped pretending it didn’t care.”

Jake looked up from the scarred oak table, the map of Mystic Hollows spread out before him like a skin waiting to be flayed. The flickering candlelight cast long, distorted shadows against the stone walls of the war room.

“Say that again,” Jake commanded. His voice was a low rasp, the sound of grinding tectonic plates.

The scout swallowed ...