The forest remembered her.

As soon as Evelyn crossed the border into Ghostwood, the air changed. The mist thickened, curling around her like recognition, and the trees whispered her name — not in words, but in the faint rustle of leaves that trembled with old power.

Ronan walked beside her, every sense alert. His sword hung loose at his side, but his hand never left the hilt. “It’s quieter than last time,” he murmured.

Evelyn nodded. “That’s what worries me.”

Ghostwood was ...