Chapter 5 THREADS OF THE PAST

The Hollow lay quiet behind them, a shadowed wound in the forest. Rowan and Silas walked in silence, the narrow path winding through thick trees and curling fog that clung to their boots. Night had fully cloaked Ashbourne by the time they reached the forest's edge. The lodge stood ahead like a watchful sentinel, its windows casting a soft golden glow that shimmered against the dark. Yet the light did little to chase away the cold rooted in Rowan's bones.

Inside, the hearth burned with a quiet, flickering fire. Rowan sat at the long oak table, fingers trailing the worn pages of the grimoire now open before her. Her mind spun with the weight of what she had seen. Silas stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly across his chest. His gaze never left her face.

"You've been quiet since we left," he said after a long moment, his voice low but steady.

Rowan looked up, her expression distant but not unreadable. "I'm still making sense of it," she replied. "There was so much."

"What you saw-was it enough to break the curse?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. But it's a beginning. The curse wasn't born from one moment of rage or one act of betrayal. It was layered-shaped by fear, sorrow, and a long history of division. What I saw... it was grief forged into law. Elandra tried to protect him, Silas. She loved him. But the council-"

"They were afraid," Silas finished grimly.

"Yes," Rowan said softly. "Afraid of her love. Afraid of what it meant. What it could become."

His jaw clenched. "So they cursed us. Because of love."

"No," she said, voice steady now. "They cursed you because of what love could change."

She turned the book toward him. "This language-it's ancient. Older than any known coven. It predates even the First Circle. These runes, though faded and partially erased, describe a ritual. A binding. Not just a punishment, but a bond meant to endure."

Silas pushed off the wall and moved beside her, brow furrowed with intensity. "What kind of bond?"

Rowan tapped the page. "A blood tether. It links bloodlines. Elandra and the werewolf she loved didn't just fall in love-they made something powerful. The curse wasn't just about revenge or preventing a union. It was a safeguard. A warning etched into the bloodlines to keep witches and wolves from ever crossing that line again."

His voice dropped. "So... us."

"Isn't a coincidence," she confirmed. "Our connection might be awakening deeper layers of the curse. Layers that have been dormant for centuries."

A thick silence settled between them, like fog pressing into the walls. The fire popped once, sharp and sudden, like a heartbeat. Silas looked at her-truly looked, as if seeing her for the first time not as a witch, but as something else entirely.

"You said the curse was built from grief and rage," he murmured. "But what if love can unmake it?"

Rowan gave a tired smile, one corner of her mouth lifting. "Spoken like a dreamer."

He didn't flinch. "Spoken like someone who's tired of being haunted."

Before she could answer, a sudden knock struck the lodge door-loud and urgent.

Silas reacted instantly, instinct carrying him across the room. He opened the door cautiously. Willow stood on the other side, her cloak soaked through, hair clinging to her cheeks, and her eyes wide with urgency.

"You need to come," she said, breathless. Her gaze fixed on Rowan. "Now."

Rowan rose, already reaching for her satchel. "What is it?"

"A calling," Willow said. "From the grove. The elders have summoned the circle."

Rowan's blood ran cold. "Why?"

Willow hesitated, then added, "They know you've been using the old magic."

Rowan's fingers tightened around the strap. "How could they possibly know that?"

"I don't know," Willow admitted. "But they're angry. Furious, from what I could gather."

Silas stepped forward without hesitation. "She's not going alone."

Willow raised a skeptical brow. "You want to walk into the witches' grove now?"

"If she's in danger," he said firmly, "I'll walk wherever I need to."

Rowan looked between them, her pulse thudding in her ears. She nodded. "Let's go."

-

The grove pulsed with restrained energy as they arrived. The clearing was ringed with towering trees, their ancient trunks glowing faintly under the light of the moon. Lanterns hung from branches, swinging gently in the night breeze, casting long and shifting shadows on the forest floor. Figures stood in a half-circle around the clearing's center. Elders in gray and black robes waited in silence, their expressions carved in stone.

Rowan stepped forward, chin high.

"Rowan Adair," one elder said sharply. "You've summoned forces far beyond your station. You entered the Hollow-a sacred and forbidden place. Speak."

"I sought the truth," Rowan said clearly. "About the curse. About our history."

"You defied the circle," another snapped. "You desecrated holy ground with a wolf at your side."

Silas stiffened behind her, but held his place at the edge of the grove.

Rowan didn't back down. "Elandra's story has been hidden. Distorted. You feared what her love represented. You turned that fear into a weapon-a curse. I saw it with my own eyes."

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"You speak of dreams and ghosts," one elder scoffed. "We speak of law."

Rowan took another step forward. "Then your law is broken. This curse harms more than the wolves. It harms us. It binds our future to pain that was never healed. And I won't let it ruin another life."

A long silence followed.

Then, a quiet voice rang out. "She's right."

Willow stepped forward, pulling down her hood. "We've been afraid too long. Maybe it's time we listened instead of silencing."

From the shadows, another voice whispered, "Let her speak."

The elders exchanged glances-some hard, others uncertain.

Finally, the lead elder spoke. "You wish to challenge silence with memory? Then bring proof. Let the Hollow speak again. Until then, stay away. You've been warned."

The light dimmed.

The circle dissolved.

-

Later, at the lodge, Rowan stood by the window, arms folded, watching the mist drift over the trees like ghostly hands.

Silas came to stand beside her. "Could've been worse."

"They're afraid," she said. "Afraid of what I might change."

"They should be," he replied with a quiet smile.

She glanced up at him. "You meant what you said earlier? About love unmaking the curse?"

"I meant every word."

Her voice dropped. "Even if it means binding yourself to a witch?"

He didn't hesitate. "Especially then."

And in that moment, with only the hush of the forest surrounding them, there was no curse-only two hearts, standing still in defiance of a world that wanted them apart.