Page 24 of Mate Night Snack
And now she’d seen him hurt.
Bleeding.
Alone.
Her fingers curled in the sheets.
Tomorrow, she’d find him. Not to warn him. He wouldn’t listen to that. But just to be where he was. Because something was coming. And this time, she didn’t want to see it from a distance after it had already happened.
10
EMMETT
The hammer slipped in his grip.
Emmett caught it before it clattered to the floor and stared at the half-repaired stair rail at the side ofTheGriddle & Grind. A clean crack through the cedar post. Easy fix. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if he sanded it properly. But his hands wouldn’t stay steady.
The weight in his chest didn’t belong to the job though. It pressed in, tight and pointed, like something primal shifting under his skin that knew something he didn’t yet.
He straightened, sniffed the air.
Nothing.
Not the scent he was searching for. That was what bothered him most.
He wiped his palms on his jeans and headed down the street, boots crunching against gravel and stray pine needles. The town was quiet for a late morning. No mail cart. No gossip by the Mercantile porch. Even the air felt off being damp and heavy, like the woods were holding their breath.
He reached the Hearth & Hollow Inn in six long strides and found Miriam in the kitchen, rolling out dough with a calm that didn’t match the urgency knotting his gut.
She didn’t look up when he stepped in. “You’re early for lunch.”
“Where’s Katniss?”
Miriam paused mid-roll, hands still pressed into the flour. “She said she was going out to write. Took her journal.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t say.”
His stomach dropped. He turned and was already moving through the foyer.
Behind him, Miriam called after him, “Emmett?”
He paused in the doorway, fingers flexing against the frame.
“She’s smart,” she said. “But the Veil doesn’t care about smart.”
That was the problem. The Veil had a mood. And today, it felt angry.
The path to Moonmirror Lake stretched long and slick with dew. Trees leaned in too close. Roots shifted beneath the dirt like something was wriggling below.
He picked up speed.
Her scent caught on the wind near the ridge of bergamot and sun-warmed citrus, tangled with the faintest trace of static.
His wolf stirred. The hairs on the back of his neck rose just before the ripple hit.
Not a sound. Not a flash.
