By noon, Lydia served them a lunch of tinolang manok made with herbs from the garden. Lara devoured two bowls, declaring it the best chicken soup she'd ever had.
"This is what fresh food tastes like," Lara said, leaning back in her chair. "Imagine if you raised your own poultry."
Bianca was already imagining it—and more. She pictured pens filled with healthy, glossy-feathered chickens, ducks paddling in a pond, goats grazing lazily under fruit trees.
She didn't tell Lara that, in her mind's eye, the animals looked… brighter somehow. Smarter. Like they already understood her.
---
That afternoon, they took a longer walk around the perimeter of the hacienda. Bianca pointed out the natural stream that could supply water for livestock. Lara noted the shaded areas perfect for shelter.
"You've got everything you need," Lara said. "Well, except money for the animals."
"I've got enough saved to start small," Bianca replied. "A few chickens, maybe some ducks. Build up from there."
Lara grinned. "And I'll come visit and name them all."
---
As the sun began to set, the air turned cooler. The sky was streaked with gold and violet, the bamboo forest a dark silhouette against the horizon. Lara sighed.
"You know, I didn't get the appeal when you first told me you were moving here. But now…" She glanced at Bianca. "I get it. It's peaceful. Feels like it's… yours."
Bianca felt that too, deep in her bones. The land wasn't just hers legally—it welcomed her, breathed with her. She didn't say it aloud.
The first sign came as the last of the sunlight faded behind the mountain. Bianca and Lara were sitting on the veranda with mugs of ginger tea, laughing about the time they got caught sneaking into the back gate of their high school.
A sudden rustle swept through the bamboo forest—not the slow, swaying sound of the wind, but a sharper, heavier movement. Bianca's laughter faltered.
"Probably just a dog," Lara said, sipping her tea. But her eyes followed Bianca's toward the dark edge of the trees.
Kaloy appeared silently near Bianca's chair, his golden eyes fixed on the same spot. He said nothing, but his fur was raised.
The sound faded. The forest stood still again.
Bianca forced herself to breathe. "Tomorrow," she said, trying to make her voice light, "we will go to the Market early."
---
In the orchard, the mysterious man moved between the trees like a shadow. He had heard the rustle too. It wasn't a dog. It wasn't even from the land itself.
Something—or someone—was testing the boundaries again. This time, closer than before.
He paused near the stripped mango tree, now blooming again under Bianca's touch. He placed his palm against its trunk. The warmth lingering there wasn't from the sun—it was from her.
And that warmth, if left unguarded, would draw the wrong kind of attention.
His jaw tightened. Tomorrow, she would be out in the village, surrounded by strangers.
He would have to follow.
She could never know he was there. Not yet.
---
End of Chapter 8