Chapter 9. One of Us

The grove was silver-drenched and still when Mira slipped into it again. The moon hung low over the trees, soft and round, painting the clearing in pale light. Leaves whispered high above, but the earth below was quiet, untouched by wind.

She didn’t know why she kept coming here. Habit, perhaps. Or routine. Maybe the herbs gave her something to focus on—something to anchor the storm that still churned inside her chest every time she closed her eyes and saw Kaelen’s face.

She crouched low by the valerian patch, fingers trembling slightly as she slipped the scissors from her pocket. The blades caught a glint of moonlight as she snipped the edges of the soft green leaves. One cut, then another. The rhythm helped. The repetition gave her breath.

Clear mind. Peaceful heart.

The chant drifted through her thoughts like an old lullaby. Martha’s voice echoed faintly with it.

Herbs remember the hands that pick them.

Her fingers slowed. A breat