I WOKE UP TO THE WARM, wet drag of a tongue against my cheek. At first, I thought it was some strange dream, like that odd half-conscious state where nothing feels quite real. But the sensation was too sloppy and persistent to ignore. My eyelids were heavy, stuck together from dried tears, but I forced them open, squinting into the dappled morning light filtering through the willow branches above me.
A blur of grey and brown fur then filled my vision. Afterwards, the world sharpened. A German Shepherd stood over me, head tilted, tail wagging lazily as if waking strangers beneath willow trees was part of his daily routine. His nose was damp and cold when it nudged my chin. I jolted upright so fast the ground seemed to spin while my pulse leaped in alarm. My body ached from sleeping on the grass, and my head still pounded from everything. I whipped my gaze around, searching for Sebastian—because if anyone could explain how I'd survived the night, it was him. But the spot beside me was empty.
Instead, I caught sight of a figure standing a few steps away, a black cap casting a shadow over his eyes. He was holding a short leather lead, casually calling the dog back with an easy, almost careless tone.
"Hunter," he said, as if the name explained everything.
My brows knitted. My voice came out hoarse. "W-Where… am I?"
The guy looked at me, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Underneath a willow tree, Miss," he said in a tone dripping with mock sincerity, the kind of answer that was supposed to be clever but only succeeded in being infuriating.
I blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the gall. "I can see that," I said sharply. "And that's clearly not what I meant."
His smirk deepened. "Guess you'll have to be more specific next time, then."
I narrowed my eyes, studying him more closely now. His features were sharp but softened by youth, and his skin was fair that it made me think he spent more time indoors. The black cap sat low, but not enough to hide the slight glint of mischief in his gaze. A black tank top clung to his shoulders, casual but purposeful. He looked like someone who could walk into trouble without trying.
"And you are…?" I pressed, my voice clipped.
"Riven," he said simply, as though the name should ring a bell. His hand went to the dog's head, ruffling the fur affectionately. "And this," he added, "is Hunter."
The dog sat obediently at his feet now, tongue lolling, gaze flicking between me and its owner like it was waiting for one of us to make a move.
I could feel his eyes on me—not in a leering way, but in that irritatingly observant manner that made me want to shrink into myself. He wasn't staring at my clothes or my hair, but my face. And I knew what he saw. The puffiness around my eyes, the redness that still lingered, the faint tear stains from last night. I hated how obvious it must've been.
He didn't say anything about it, though, but there was a softness to his gaze that I noticed despite myself. Then, to my surprise, he smiled faintly and tilted his head. "Rough night?"
I stiffened, the words lodging somewhere uncomfortably between my ribs. I didn't owe him an answer. And I certainly didn't need some stranger with a smug hat asking questions I wasn't ready to answer.
"I'm fine," I lied, keeping my tone cool.
His smile shifted into something more knowing, but he didn't push. "If you say so," he murmured, the lilt in his voice almost teasing, but not cruel. It was the kind of tone people used when they didn't believe you but decided to leave it alone—for now.
I glanced away, unwilling to let him read more from my expression. My eyes drifted back to Hunter, who had flopped down in the grass with a contented sigh, his head resting on his paws.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Alice," I replied. "Alice Everly Whitlock."
"Alice, huh," he said, smirking. "Might as well call you Whit."
"Whit?"
"Yup. It kinda suits you."
"That name sucks," I said, rolling my eyes.
"But it's your name."
"Whatever," I said. After turning my back on him, my thoughts then itched to circle back to the night before where the smoke, the screams, and the fire swallowed everything—but I clenched my jaw and shoved the images away. This was not the place or the person to let myself unravel in front of.
"Why were you sleeping out here, by the way?" he asked suddenly.
"Why do you care?" I shot back, more defensive than I intended.
He lifted his hands in mock surrender, the corners of his lips twitching again. "Just making conversation. Not every day I find someone napping under my willow tree."
'My willow tree.' The phrasing irked me.
I crossed my arms, glaring up at him. "So, you own this tree now?"
He grinned, shameless. "Well, it's on my favorite resting place, so yeah—technically."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Congratulations. Should I thank you for the hospitality?"
"Wouldn't hurt," he replied smoothly, as if he expected me to do exactly that.
The nerve of him.
I looked away again, scanning the horizon as if Sebastian might suddenly reappear. Instead, all I saw were fields stretching out in muted golds and greens, swaying under the gentle push of the wind. The sky was brighter now, though a faint haze lingered near the edges.
Riven followed my gaze, then looked back at me with a shift in expression—less teasing, more searching. "Seriously, though. You okay?"
The question landed heavier this time, like it had weight behind it. My throat then tightened. I could have lied again, could have brushed it off and walked away. But the truth sat so close to the surface it burned. My home—my parents—everything had been ripped away in a matter of hours. And here I was, sitting under a tree with a stranger and his dog, pretending the pieces of my life weren't still scattered across the ground somewhere in the distance.
I didn't answer him. Not in words. But the silence, the way my chest heaved with each breath, must have said enough which caused his gaze to soften. He took a slow step closer, crouching slightly so we were closer to eye level. "Hey," he said gently. "If you need a minute, that's fine. Just let me know if I can help."
I stared at him, caught between suspicion and a strange pull toward his unexpected kindness. My voice came out quieter than I meant. "Do you have… a handkerchief?"
He blinked, then patted his pockets. "Uh… no." His mouth twisted in mild frustration before his hands went to the hem of his shirt. "But I can—"
Before he could pull it over his head, I recoiled. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. I don't need your stinky shirt, thank you."
He froze, then straightened slowly, raising a brow. "Stinky?"
"Obviously," I said, though I couldn't actually smell anything from here. "You've probably been sweating in it all morning."
He gave me a look that landed somewhere between amused and offended. "Wow. Harsh. For the record, it's perfectly clean. But fine—suffer in silence, then."
I sniffed, lifting my chin. "Gladly."
We locked eyes for a long moment, each daring the other to break first. Then, to my annoyance, the corner of his mouth quirked upward again.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?"
I ignored him, pushing myself to my feet. My legs wobbled slightly, but I steadied myself, brushing grass from my clothes. "Well, 'Riven,' I don't have time for this."
He straightened fully, crossing his arms. "This?"
"This pointless… whatever this is," I said, gesturing vaguely between us. "I've got somewhere to be."
"And where's that?" he asked, tone light but his eyes curious.
"None of your business," I shot back.
He shrugged, clearly unbothered.
"Suit yourself, Blackcap," I said.
His brow furrowed. "Blackcap?"
"Yeah," I said, smirking faintly. "Because of the cap. Obviously."
He tilted his head as if weighing the nickname, then smirked. "I've been called worse, though. Whatever you say, Whit."
I gave a small, dismissive wave and turned to leave, the conversation already fading in my mind. The sooner I found Sebastian, the better.
And almost on cue, a familiar shadow swept over me. I glanced up to see him—Sebastian—gliding down in his owl form, wings spread wide before landing gracefully on the grass beside me.
I'd only gone a few steps when a familiar rush of wind swept past my ear. The air shifted with a whisper of feathers, and then—just like that—Sebastian was there, gliding in low from the branches overhead. His talons scraped softly against the ground as he landed beside me, his golden eyes flicking toward the dude I'd just left behind.
"Who was that?" His voice, deep and resonant even in my head, carried more suspicion than curiosity.
"Nobody," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the folded paper in my hands. "Just a guy with a big mouth."
Sebastian's gaze lingered on me a moment longer, like he was weighing the truth of that statement, but he didn't press. Instead, his attention dropped to the map I was carrying, its creased surface catching bits of morning light through the willow branches.
He sidled closer, angling his head to get a better view. "Let me see that."
I hesitated, tightening my fingers around the edges. "It's just a map. My dad gave it to me."
"Exactly why I want to see it." His tone was calm, but there was a firmness underneath that made me loosen my grip without realizing it.
He stepped forward, the tip of his beak tapping the paper lightly as I unfolded it. The worn parchment spread out between us, the lines of roads and rivers hand-drawn in precise ink strokes. My father's handwriting scrawled notes along the edges, but one spot—circled in red—stood out immediately.
"Where were you, by the way?" I asked.
"I got out to look for food," he replied. "I may be Gifted but of course I do get hungry."
Makes sense. I then sat down as Sebastian continued to read the texts from the map.
His feathers ruffled slightly as he studied it, nudging me to come closer as he tapped his beak on to something. "So this is where he told you to go?"
I nodded. "Yeah, Willowmere."
His head tilted. "Isn't that…"
"Familiar?"
Instead of answering, he looked up, scanning the sky above the trees. "Wait here."
Before I could protest, he was airborne, his wings cutting sharp arcs against the pale morning light. I craned my neck, watching him disappear into the canopy before the sound of his wingbeats faded completely.
The silence pressed in while I stood there, the willow branches swaying gently overhead. My mind wandered in spite of myself—to my father's grave expression when he'd handed me this map, plus the urgency in his voice. I'd never seen him look so certain that danger was inevitable.
Minutes passed before Sebastian returned, swooping down in a graceful spiral. He landed neatly, folding his wings against his sides. "There's a path about two hundred paces east. It'll be quicker if we follow it. I mean, it matches the route on your map, though."
"You memorized the map already?" I asked, half-impressed and half-skeptical.
"I've been flying over this area for years, Miss Alice," he replied simply. "I know what's where."
That does make sense.
"So two-hundred paces? That's kinda tiring," I said.
"But I can't carry you in my avian form, you know."
"Well, I didn't tell you to fly," I said.
It took a few seconds for him to register what I meant. Then, he transformed to his humanoid form. After his feathers turn into arms and his human form becomes apparent, we started setting off together, weaving through the undergrowth until the trees thinned and the faint outline of a path emerged beneath our feet. The air was cool and still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves when a breeze slipped through.
As we walked, Sebastian glanced at the parchment again. "You know, this place your father wanted you to go must be the exact same house I told you before."
I looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
"Like what I said before, there's a mansion in Willowmere. Hidden deep, tucked away from any main road. I told you about it, remember? The one where gifted beings live together."
His words landed with a tug I couldn't ignore. I remembered the story clearly—how he'd watched it from afar, how no one ever seemed to leave.
I frowned, my fingers tightening on the map. "You think that's the same place?"
"I don't think," he said, his tone grave. "I know. Your father sent you straight there."
A knot formed in my chest. Could Dad have known about this place? About the people in it? About the gifted? The questions buzzed in my skull, impossible to untangle.
Sebastian must have noticed my silence because he didn't speak again. For a while, we walked in quiet through the forest, our footsteps muffled by moss and fallen leaves. The air smelled faintly of pine and damp earth, and the canopy above let in fractured shards of light that shifted as we moved.
The path wound on, taking us through dips and rises, across narrow wooden bridges spanning trickling streams. Eventually, the trees began to thin, and fields stretched out before us, rolling in gentle waves toward the distant hills. Sebastian then took to the air again, gliding in slow circles above me. He'd occasionally swoop lower, pointing his beak toward the right fork in a path or a less obvious trail hidden by brambles. His voice in my head was calm, efficient, and oddly reassuring.
"You're doing well," he said once as I scrambled over a fallen log.
"I'm walking," I replied flatly. "Not exactly heroic."
"It's more than most would do after last night."
I didn't answer, though part of me wanted to. I just kept moving, focusing on each step, each landmark that brought me closer to the red circle on my map. By the time the sun had climbed high enough to warm the crown of my head, we reached a narrow trail that wound upward into a dense patch of evergreens. Sebastian dipped low again, his feathers brushing against the tips of the trees as he called down, "Almost there."
I followed the trail as it curved, the air growing cooler and more still with each step. And then, as we emerged from the last line of trees, I saw it.
The house stood nestled in a small clearing, its pale stone walls half-shadowed by the surrounding forest. Vines crept up along the sides, framing tall, narrow windows that glinted faintly in the sunlight. It was large—larger than I'd expected—but not ostentatious. A wraparound porch stretched across the front, its wooden steps worn smooth with age.
"This is it," Sebastian said, landing on a low branch beside me. His golden eyes fixed on the structure with a strange mix of recognition and unease. "The mansion I told you about."
I stared at it, my thoughts racing. Could my father have known about this place all along? Had he been in contact with whoever lived here? Or was sending me here simply a matter of desperate coincidence?
The red circle on my map suddenly felt heavier than ink.
I took a step forward, the sound of my boots on the soft earth almost too loud in the quiet clearing. The forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something. Sebastian, on the other hand, didn't move from his perch. "Whatever's inside," he said quietly, "we're about to find out."
My heart still felt like it had been shattered into pieces the night before, jagged edges scraping against my ribs with every breath. I kept telling myself to stand tall, to keep my chin up, to look like someone in control of her own fate. But it was all an act, a fragile mask barely holding together the storm inside me. But I couldn't ignore how house loomed ahead, with its quiet, still facade, almost telling me to be wary in its way. The porch steps then creaked faintly as a man emerged from the front door, and the moment his face caught the light, I knew it was him. Not in the way I know a neighbor or a family friend, but in the way you know someone whose picture you've stared at long enough to burn it into your memory.
It was the exact same man in the photo my father had pressed into my hands. When he stood at the porch, I stopped walking, my boots rooted in the damp grass. The wind stirred, brushing hair into my eyes, and I didn't dare move it aside.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Sebastian glide silently upward, wings folding as he settled into the sturdy crook of a tree branch just above me. He didn't make a sound, just watched, like a silent guardian evaluating the stranger below. Slowly, the man descended the porch steps, as though not to spook me. His gaze locked on mine—dark, steady, unreadable at first—but as he drew closer, I saw it a hint of recognition. Not the vague kind you get when you've seen someone in passing, but the kind that said, Yes. I know exactly who you are.
He stopped a few feet away. His voice was gentle when he spoke, like each word was carefully chosen. "Where is your father?"
Something inside me cracked. All the strength I'd been clinging to, all the composure I'd rehearsed in my head, all of it shattered instantly. My throat closed up, my vision blurred, and before I could even think of an answer, the tears came. Not the polite, restrained kind, but the raw, ugly, unstoppable kind. My breath hitched in shallow bursts, my hands trembling against the map still clutched in my grip.
"I—" My voice broke, and I shook my head helplessly.
The man didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, his embrace firm but not suffocating. His warmth contrasted the cold bite of the air, and I felt my knees weaken as the tension I'd carried since the riot finally spilled over.
"I'm sorry," he murmured near my ear, his tone soft and weighted with something unspoken. "I shouldn't have asked like that."
It wasn't the words themselves that made my throat ache—it was the sincerity in them, the way they wrapped around the rawness inside me.
When he finally eased his hold, he stepped back just enough to look at me properly. "My name is Ryan Dawson," he said, his expression gentler now, though there was a shadow in his eyes.
I swallowed hard, wiping at my cheeks with the heel of my palm. My voice was unsteady, barely above a whisper. "Alice."
I want to ask how he knew my Dad. I want to ask if my Dad was also Gifted. But before either of us could say anything more, movement caught my eye from the porch. A woman emerged from the porch, her presence warm enough to cut through the cold in the air. She wore a soft sweater and a long skirt, her hair pulled back loosely, and the first thing I noticed—besides the kindness in her smile—was the curve of her stomach.
Her hand rested gently on her belly as she approached, her eyes flicking briefly to Ryan before settling on me. "And who might this be?" she asked, her voice smooth, inviting.
Ryan glanced at her with a small nod before turning back to me. "Eleanor," he said, his tone softer than before, "this is Alice. Whitlock's daughter."
Something passed between them. Eleanor's gaze shifted to mine, and there was no pity in it, only understanding. The kind that comes from knowing loss yourself.
"I'm Eleanor," she said with that same gentle smile, one that somehow made me feel both exposed and safe. "It's good to meet you, Alice."
The words good to meet you felt strange, like they belonged to a normal introduction at a polite gathering, not here—at the end of the worst night of my life.
Ryan's voice pulled my attention back to him. "I'm sorry about what happened to your family," he said. And he meant it—not the way people say sorry because they have to, but in a way that sounded like he was carrying a piece of that sorrow with him.
The weight of it pressed down on me again, and I had to glance at the ground to keep from falling apart for a second time in as many minutes.
Ryan took a slow breath, his expression steady but not cold. "You can stay here if you want, Alice," he continued. "It's safe here. No one here will hurt you."
The word safe hit me harder than I expected. Safe felt like a luxury I no longer believed in. Safe had been torn away from me in the crack of gunfire and the roar of fire consuming my home.
"I—" My voice faltered, my instinct to refuse clashing with the exhaustion pressing into every bone in my body. Ryan must have seen that hesitation because his tone softened even more.
"You don't have to decide right this second. But you've been through enough. You need somewhere to rest. Somewhere you won't have to keep looking over your shoulder."
Sebastian shifted above us, the rustle of his feathers catching my ear. I didn't need to look up to know his gaze was fixed sharply on Ryan.
Eleanor stepped closer, her voice calm. "We're not strangers to what you've seen," she said quietly. "We understand more than you think. And we won't force anything on you."
Her words carried a strange weight, as if there was more meaning hidden beneath them.
I glanced between Ryan's steady gaze and Eleanor's quiet smile—and for the first time since the flames rose over the mansion, I felt something shift. Not relief, exactly, but the faintest hint of possibility. But still, the grief was there, raw and biting. "I don't know if I can—" I began, but my voice wavered, the sentence slipping away before I could finish it.
Ryan didn't push. He just nodded slowly, as if he understood exactly what I meant without needing me to say it.
"This is a haven for beings like us, Alice," he said after a pause, the word deliberate. "If you want to come, you're more than welcome."
I tightened my grip on the map, the creases digging into my fingers. I thought of my father pressing it into my hand, the urgency in his voice when he told me to find Ryan. And here he was, offering me shelter without asking for anything in return.
I glanced up at Sebastian, who tilted his head ever so slightly, the movement small but enough to feel like an answer. My chest rose and fell in a slow breath. Maybe, for now, I would be safe. I have nowhere else to go, anyway.