He entered the herbal shop
He wanted to find something for his little sister, who kept bugging him.
It wasn't a place he frequented. Too quaint. Too earthy. The Knights kept their own supplies of medicinal flora, stocked by estate-aligned practitioners. But something pulled him there—not instinct, exactly. Not curiosity. More like an itch behind his thoughts that refused to settle.
And when he saw her, the itch turned sharp.
Mira.
She was bent over the counter, inspecting a bundle of dried frostroot with the kind of care one might reserve for a sacred relic. She looked up just as he stepped inside.
There was no surprise in her eyes.
Just mild irritation.
"You again," she said.
"Yes," Devin replied, stepping closer. "Back at the café. About my blood. About the frost you knew all that "
"I did."
"How?"
Mira said nothing for a long moment, then turned back to the counter and handed the frostroot to the shop assistant. "Bag this," she said quietly.
Devin crossed his arms. "You're not answering."
"No, I'm not."
He was about to speak again when the shop assistant—an older woman with a braid of silver and black—let out a soft gasp.
And collapsed.
Mira moved fast, catching her before she hit the ground.
Devin was beside her a heartbeat later, kneeling, checking the woman's pulse.
It was there—fluttering, weak.
Her eyes twitched beneath closed lids.
"She's not seizing," Mira murmured. "But she's slipping."
"She's the third person I've seen like this today," Devin muttered. "What's going on?"
Mira didn't answer.
He was starting to hate how often she didn't answer.
The shop owner rushed in from the back, pale and wide-eyed. "Not again," he breathed. "Not—damn it, this is the second assistant this week."
"Second?" Devin echoed.
"She just... dropped. Like the others. My son's the same—still unconscious at the clinic."
Mira rose slowly. "We need to get her there. Now."
The shopkeeper nodded and hurried to fetch his car.
As they lifted the woman onto a mat and carried her outside, Devin leaned close to Mira.
"You know air borne diseases don't turn veins black" Devin stated
"What is it?" he asked ignoring Mira's silen
"I don't know."
He didn't believe her.
And she didn't expect him to.
They arrived at the nearest clinic in silence. The receptionist took one look at the unconscious woman and called in the nurses. As she was wheeled away, Mira stood rooted in place, hands still clenched at her sides.
Devin studied her profile.
She was worried.
Not just for the assistant.
But for what came next.
"You think people are going to start dying," he said quietly.
Mira didn't look at him. "If this spreads faster than we can understand it… yes."
Devin's jaw tightened.
He didn't know what was happening in Hawthorne.
And Mira
There was something familiar about her.
It wasn't just the air of mystery. Not the herbs she carried or the way her words danced around truths. It was something subtler. The way she moved. The weight of silence in her presence. The calm.
Like the quiet before a storm.
Like... Elora.
He hated how often he thought of her.
The resemblance nagged at him now as they stood outside the clinic, watching the assistant being wheeled into a sterile room filled with people who had no answers.
He kept glancing at Mira.
Her hair was darker than Elora's, but the shine, the stillness—it was similar.
Her poise. Her refusal to panic. The way she saw more than she let on.
Devin shook the thought off with a quiet breath. No. It couldn't be. Coincidence. Hawthorne was full of mysterious people.
He turned to her as she adjusted the strap on her bag.
"You're a healer," he said quietly.
She didn't look at him.
But one brow arched. "Am I?"
"I figured it out," he replied. "The herbs. Your knowledge. Your reaction. You weren't surprised by that woman collapsing—you were prepared."
This time she answered.
Just one word.
"Yes."
Then she turned and walked out of the clinic without another word.
___________________
That evening, during the perimeter survey in the northern quarter—Knight protocol to check for border fluctuations in the old wards—Devin found himself drifting toward the overlook path behind the eastern woodline.
He saw them before they saw him.
Mira.
And... Jessi?
The chatterbox from school, recognizable even from a distance by her restless bouncing and bright-colored jacket.
Devin narrowed his eyes. That was strange.
What would a healer from the shadows be doing with a schoolgirl from Hawthorne's louder corners?
Then Mira turned slightly.
And called a name.
"Elora."
His pulse caught in his throat.
Elora stepped into view, nudging Jessi playfully on the arm. She had a basket looped around her wrist, half-full of herbs and scroll-paper.
It had been three days since he'd seen her.
Three days since she knelt beside that girl in the hallway and let that soft emerald glow pour from her fingers—quietly, beautifully, like the world owed her no thanks.
He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind since.
She wasn't just strange.
She was different.
Devin had kept his distance.
Not because he didn't want to speak to her.
But because he knew—if he crossed that space, if he let himself get too close—he wouldn't be able to stop.
He wasn't ready.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready.
But when she was, when the time was right—he would take that step. And he wouldn't let her go.
Ever.
His eyes lingered on her a moment longer.
Then they flicked to Mira again.
Putting things together.
Healer. Silence. Same glow.
Same aura.
Same stillness.
"Her mother?" he murmured under his breath.
He turned, leaving the clearing with the whisper of roots brushing beneath his boots.
If Mira was Elora's mother… then the girl he couldn't stop dreaming about was far more than she let on.
And maybe—