[redith].
In the days that followed, reality finally settled in.
No matter how carefully I had sorted, preserved, and prepared the herbs we had gathered, it beca painfully clear that they were not enough—not for what I wanted to do.
The teas for headaches needed to be fresh to retain their potency. The healing balms required quality herbs, the kind that carried strength in their scent alone. And that strength did not live here.
By the seventh morning, after inspecting another batch and feeling that quiet dissatisfaction coil in my chest, I finally admitted the truth to myself.
I had no choice. I would have to return to Moonstone.
The realization sat heavy, unwelco, but unavoidable. So, I pushed aside my unease and focused on what I could control.
I delegated the morning work at the workstation—washing jars, monitoring the drying fruits, and reorganizing the shelves- to my maidservants, giving clear instructions before stepping away.
They listened attentively, efficient and steady as always. Then I took out my phone and dialled.
Dennis answered on the third ring.
"Yes?" he said, sounding far too awake. "Tell this isn’t another list."
"I need to go to the Moonstone local market," I said plainly. "Today. Are you free to drive ?"
There was a brief pause on the line, just long enough for my shoulders to tense. Then he exhaled.
"Give five minutes."
Relief washed through so quickly that I had to close my eyes. "You’re serious?"
"Dead serious," he replied. "Co outside. I will wait."
I let out a breath I was holding and thanked him before ending the call.
As I slipped my phone away, I felt the familiar mix of resolve and unease settle into my bones. Moonstone was not just a market. It was mories. Faces. Questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Still, the work mattered.
Straightening my shoulders, I left the workstation and headed for the front of the house—toward the part of my past I had been avoiding for far too long.
---
By the ti I stepped outside, Dennis was already there.
He leaned lazily against the car, one ankle crossed over the other, keys spinning around his finger like he had nowhere else to be.
When he saw , his mouth tilted into a grin. "Careful," he said. "You look like you’re heading to a tribunal, not a market."
I rolled my eyes as I approached. "I’m buying herbs, Dennis. Not declaring war."
"Sa thing, depending on the herbs," he replied lightly, opening the door for .
The drive to Moonstone was quieter than I expected. Then, Dennis filled the silence with idle chatter at first—about a new stall that had opened near the south ridge, about how he heard the Moonstone market had expanded since the last ti he passed through.
I listened, nodded where appropriate, but the closer we got, the tighter my chest felt.
Moonstone wasn’t just a pack. It was a mory. It was history. It was everything I had survived.
When we arrived, the scent hit first. Fresh earth. Crushed leaves. Old magic woven into bark and root.
The mont I stepped out of the car, I felt the familiar and unwelco all at once. A few heads turned. So people paused mid-conversation. One vendor froze, eyes widening just a fraction before she bowed stiffly.
"Luna," soone murmured, but I pretended not to hear.
Dennis shifted closer to without making a show of it, his presence easy but deliberate. "Let’s get what you need and get out fast," he muttered.
I nodded and moved toward the nearest herb stall in my line of sight, forcing my shoulders back, and my chin up.
I was not here to hide.
As I inspected bundles of dried leaves and jars of crushed roots, I felt more eyes on —so curious, so guarded, and so openly wary.
And that was fine. I preferred it that way.
Several minutes later, I felt a familiar presence, one that I hadn’t felt in a long while, so I let my intuition carry my eyes about.
It wasn’t long before I saw them a few shops away. And instantly, my breath hitched before I could stop it.
My mother stood near a fabric stall, her posture elegant as ever, her expression composed—unchanged by ti, and untouched by consequence. Beside her was Mabel.
Mabel’s hair was styled carefully, her dress chosen to draw attention. She laughed at sothing my mother said, her voice light with practised ease.
I looked away imdiately.
The last ti I had seen my mother was over a year ago—on my wedding day. She had co into the room while I was getting ready.
And, she had watched marry Draven with a polite smile and distant eyes, as though I were a stranger without a life choice.
As for Mabel, since the day Draven had ’respectfully’ sent her and Gary out of Duskmoor and back ho, I hadn’t heard a word from her. No ssage. No apology. No concern.
And I had no intention of changing that today.
I returned my full attention to the herbs in front of , selecting what I needed with steady hands. I refused to turn my head again. If I didn’t acknowledge them, they wouldn’t exist.
At least, that was what I told myself.
Five minutes later, just as I finished paying and gathered the herbs into a basket, a familiar sweet voice rang out behind .
"redith!"
My spine stiffened. At the sa mont, Dennis’s voice brushed against my mind through the bond.
"Are you okay?"
I inhaled slowly. "My mother and my younger sister are behind us."
There was a brief pause, then— "Oh," Dennis replied, suddenly very aware.
Left with no choice, I turned.
Mabel stood a few steps away, that sa troubleso smile curved perfectly on her lips—the one she used when she wanted sothing, or when she wanted to provoke.
My mother, on the other hand, stood beside her, with a calm, assessing gaze. She looked exactly the sa, ageless and unmoved.
I t their eyes and inclined my head politely. "Mother," I said with a distant tone.
No warmth. No resentnt. Just distance, exactly where they belonged.
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