Page 119 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
THE FRONT STEPS were still warm from the sun.
That was the first thing Nora noticed. Not the silence. Not the bloom petals still caught in her hair. Not even the ache in her body that said she’d been split open and filled with light.
Just… the porch.
Same cracked concrete. Same desert-pink tile just inside the door. Same beat-up wooden frame around the screen that had needed replacing since she was twelve.
The world hadn’t changed.
She had.
They stood side by side at the threshold, dust-streaked and barefoot, marked in places no soap would ever clean. Asher hadn’t spoken since they left the Hollow. He walked like he wasn’t used to being allowed this far into ordinary space. Like the house might reject him if he breathed too loud.
She reached for the door.
It stuck a little at the bottom. It always did.
She stepped inside first.
The air was cooler, still carrying the faint scent of burnt creosote and sage and sun-drenched wood. The curtains billowed gently at the open window in the kitchen. Her grandfather’s boots still sat by the back door. A mug was on the counter, full of old coffee and dust.
Everything looked exactly as she left it.
Which made it feel wrong.
Asher hesitated in the doorway, one foot inside, one still planted on the sunbaked step. He filled the frame like a shadowcaught between worlds, too big, too wild, too silent for a space this small.
She turned toward him, one brow arched. “You planning on haunting me from the porch?”
His mouth twitched.
He stepped inside.
The house didn’t flinch. The walls didn’t creak. The ceiling didn’t fall.
Something in Nora’s chest unclenched.
She walked slowly into the front room, trailing her fingertips along the top of the side table. Dust clung to her fingers. She looked down and saw faint gold on her skin, mixing with the ash. Light curled in her palm like a secret.
The journals were still where she left them.
But the one on top was open.
She hadn’t opened it.
The page was blank, except for a single line:
You made it.
She exhaled.
Behind her, Asher’s hand brushed the doorframe. She could feel his presence before he said anything. It poured into the room like shadow and heat.
She turned toward him. “How long have you known?”
He blinked. “About…?”
She tilted her head. “The ritual. The Bloom. Me.”
