The cottage sat at the edge of the preserve like it had grown there. Ivy climbed the stone walls, flowers spilled over the garden path—impossibly bright blooms that had no business opening in late autumn. Kael knocked twice. His knuckles barely made a sound against the weathered wood.
The door opened almost immediately.
Lira Voss was shorter than he expected, mid-thirties, dark auburn hair pulled into a loose braid, freckles across her nose. She wore gardening gloves dusted with soil and a faded green sweater. Her eyes—sharp hazel—flicked over him once, assessing.
"Kael?" she said. "From the Association. You emailed about the rare Nen fauna sightings."
He lifted the small wicker basket he carried. Inside, half a dozen pastries dusted with pale sugar that caught the afternoon light like frost.
"Brought a peace offering," he said. His smile felt practiced. "Heard you like sweets after long fieldwork days."
Her expression softened, just a fraction. "You did your homework."She stepped aside. "Shoes off, please."
Inside smelled of earth, dried herbs, and old books. Shelves lined every wall, crowded with glass jars of preserved specimens—insects with glowing wings, tiny skeletal birds, jars of faintly luminescent moss. Notebooks lay open on the table, pages covered in neat handwriting and delicate sketches. No family photos. No television. Just quiet, focused work.
They sat at the kitchen table. Lira poured tea—chamomile, strong and bitter. Kael set the basket between them.
They talked.
She told him about a species of butterfly that secreted aura when threatened, turning predators to stone for exactly seventeen seconds. About a fox that could mimic human voices to lure prey. About how most people saw monsters; she saw systems. Elegant, brutal, perfect systems.
Kael listened. Or rather, Erynn listened through him. The strings stayed slack. No need to tighten yet. This was the patient part.
Lira leaned back in her chair, cradling her mug. "You're not what I expected from a new Blacklist Hunter. Most of them are… louder."
Kael shrugged—his shoulders moved exactly the way Erynn wanted them to. "I'm still figuring it out."
She studied him. "You seem tired."
"I haven't been sleeping well."
A pause.
She reached for the basket. "These look good."
She picked one up. Turned it in her fingers. Then took a bite. The sugar glittered on her lips.
Sweet. Too sweet.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "This tastes… familiar. Like something from when I was a kid."
Kael's voice came out soft. "Family recipe."
Lira blinked once. Twice. Then her hand drifted to her chest, pressing lightly over her heart.
"Something's wrong," she whispered.
Kael didn't move. Inside him, the maggot stirred in anticipation. Lira's eyes met his. For a heartbeat, pure clarity flashed in them—understanding, horror, resignation.
"You're not here for advice," she said quietly.
Kael's smile didn't waver.
"No," he answered. "I'm here for you."