The café near Hawthorne's town square was the kind of place where time moved slower. The old brick walls were laced with ivy, and faded chairs creaked under weight not just of people, but of history. It wasn't somewhere Devin Knight went often. Which was precisely why he'd chosen it.
He needed quiet.
Not the cold, cathedral-like silence of the Knight estate.
Real quiet.
The kind that came with the scent of roasted beans and the murmur of people too busy living to pretend.
He sat at a window booth, a half-finished mug of coffee cooling beside his elbow. The streets outside were busy in that slow, Hawthorne way—locals moving with purpose, but never with haste.
He leaned his head against the glass.
The dream from the night before clung to his mind like sap—emerald eyes, glowing in a forest that breathed. He hadn't seen her face. But he had felt her. Like she had reached inside his chest and pressed a palm against something fragile.
He hadn't told anyone. Not Elias. Not Russell.
Definitely not his father.
Some things didn't need a Knight's approval.
The door to the café jingled, and Devin didn't look up—until he felt it.
That thrum again.
Quieter now. Older.
He turned.
A woman had entered. Graceful, composed, dressed in dark slacks and a deep green blouse. She moved like someone who wasn't used to rushing—and didn't need to.
Her hair was black. Silky. Straight.
For half a second, his heart lurched.
Not her, he realized.
But something connected.
She stepped to the counter, chatting with the barista in a low, familiar tone. Her voice was gentle but firm. Polished.
Devin watched her in the reflection of the window as she gathered two paper bags of groceries, a box of tea, and a wrapped package of what looked like pressed herbs.
She turned.
Their eyes met.
Hers narrowed for a heartbeat.
Then she gave a polite, almost amused smile.
As she turned to leave, one of her bags tilted.
Devin was on his feet before he could think about it.
He crossed the room, catching the top-heavy bag just before it toppled.
"Careful," he said, steadying it.
She looked at him, curious. "Thank you."
"Let me help," he offered.
The woman studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
Then gave a nod. "That's very kind."
They exited together, the sunlight outside falling in long gold strands across the sidewalk.
Her car was parked just across the square—an old, well-kept vehicle that smelled faintly of cedar and sage.
As he loaded the last of the items into the back seat, she leaned against the car door.
"You're a Knight," she said.
Devin turned, startled. "Excuse me?"
She smiled faintly. "It's in the posture. The eyes. The careful way you carry weight in your shoulders. And… something colder beneath the skin."
He froze.
"You're not just any Knight," she said, her voice quieter now. "You carry frost. Rare. Hidden. Controlled. Like a blade made of silence."
He stared at her. "How do you know that?"
"I've known a lot of bloodlines," she said, slipping into the driver's seat. "Yours doesn't hide well from eyes trained to look."
She closed the door, rolled the window down halfway.
"It's rare," she added, "to meet a friendly Knight. A frost one at that."
Then she drove away.
Leaving Devin standing in the sunlight.
Stunned.
She hadn't given her name.
But something in her scent—cedar and mint—reminded him of old books and sacred earth.
He stood there long after the car disappeared, her words echoing in his head.
Frost.
Only his father and Russell knew the truth of what lived under his skin. The cold. The stillness. The moments when the wind moved with his heartbeat.
So who was she?
And how did she see him so clearly
---------------------------------
Devin didn't return to the Knight estate right away.
Instead, he wandered.
Through side streets. Past the square. Down toward the southern path where the old iron lampposts leaned like tired sentinels. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, jaw set, thoughts churning.
He couldn't stop replaying the conversation with the woman from the café.
"A friendly Knight... a frost one at that."
It wasn't just the words—it was the precision of them. Someone new to town. Yet she'd spoken like she had seen him before. Like she knew what lived under his skin. Not even Elias or most of the upper family lines knew. And yet, she did.
Worse than that—she saw it and didn't fear it.
That alone made his blood run colder than usual.
Back at the estate, the corridors felt narrower.
He walked them like a ghost, nodding at servants, ignoring Russell's passing glance. He didn't want to explain what he couldn't name.
He climbed the stairs to the east wing balcony overlooking the ancient sycamore tree that had grown through the stone centuries ago. From up there, he could almost pretend the estate didn't trap him. That he was just another boy in town.
But that wasn't true.
And whatever balance he'd maintained over the years had begun to unravel.
It started the day she arrived—the presence he kept feeling. He didn't even know her name, but her energy had touched every thread of his life.
The dreams.
The wind.
The roots beneath his boots that whispered when he stood still long enough.
Now, even his own thoughts didn't feel like his.
Everything in Hawthorne was shifting, like the soil was turning itself inside out, vomiting up secrets that had stayed buried for generations.
He noticed things he shouldn't.
A bird that refused to perch on a certain fence post.
A flower that bloomed—then shriveled—where someone had bled from a scraped knee.
A wall of ivy beside the school that grew faster whenever she walked past.
He didn't understand it.
But he felt it.
Every detail. Every vibration.
Like he was hearing the town breathe.
He was walking past the Knight garden when he heard the click of heels on the stone path.
Silva.
Of course.
"Devin!" she called, her voice high, sweet, and coated in rehearsed casualness.
He turned slowly.
Silva was dressed for attention as always—hair perfect, lipstick matching her earrings. Her smile was wide but not warm.
"I was just about to message you," she said, looping her arm around his like it belonged there. "Would you mind doing me a favor?"
He didn't answer right away. But he shrugged her off him being in contact with Silva some how made his skin
She leaned in. "Could you accompany me to pick up my little brother from the outer town school? Father's tied up, and I'd rather not go alone. You know how some of those roads are."
Devin blinked.
He didn't want to.
He never want to.
"No....."
But even as his mouth opened to decline, Hallen's voice echoed in his skull:
"Legacy outweighs preference."
"The Barnes remain loyal."
"The appearance matters."
He clenched his jaw.
Pushed down the thorn trying to rise.
"Sure," he said, voice level. "I'll come."
Silva smiled, victorious.
"Perfect," she said, tugging his arm. "I knew I could count on you."
Devin let her lead.
But every step forward felt like he was walking further away from something important.
And behind him, the wind shifted again.
The roots stirred.