Chapter 69. Roots Remember Names

She didn’t sleep that night.

Not because of fear.

Because of noise.

Not the grove—that remained eerily calm—but within her. Sounds came in pulses. Her heartbeat echoed with footfalls that didn’t match her steps. Her breath sometimes exhaled in a language she didn’t recognize until the syllables formed her name. And her name—Adria—rang strangely against the world now.

Wrong pitch.

Wrong angle.

Too new.

By the time the sky lightened behind the tree-latticed canopy, she had rewrapped her hands three times, paced the perimeter of the grove twice, and started cataloguing the sensations.

The first thing she noticed: smells.

When she stepped near certain trees, memory surfaced like oil on water—a sudden waft of jasmine and char—and she’d see a corridor with red brick walls and a name etched into stone: House of Thorns. A place she didn’t remember ever entering, yet she could count every stair.

Then came words.

Yseult had bee