Gregor POV

By the time the sun burned through the last of the storm, the forest had gone too quiet.

No birds. No frogs. Not even the soft hum of fae light that usually drifted above the wildflowers. Just wind, sliding through the ravine like a blade.

Marigold walked beside me, her hair still damp, jacket patched and muddy, the Fae — or, as she insisted, “Barbie the Glorious Sparkle Pest” — fluttering in lazy circles above her head. The Fae grumbled the entire time.

“I told ...