Rowan slipped from the void into Earth’s reality, shifting to human as he landed. He stood still, inhaling deeply—humid warmth, the scent of earth and rain. One breath later—dry heat, dust, and stone.

  The air stilled. The wind wasn’t whispering secrets. It had nothing to say. But the quiet felt right. He let his senses adjust, then started walking.

  Rowan wasn’t expecting much. Even before, when he’d called this place home, it had barely qualified. The town it belonged to hadn’t existed in over a century—nothing left but crumbling walls and scraps of foundation swallowed by the desert. His home had been a cellar, buried beneath a wooden hatch, carved into the earth like a grave.

  The cellar door hung open. Something heavy settled in his chest, slow and sinking. His steps slowed. He exhaled through his nose.

  Of course.

  He climbed down into the cellar. The FBI had been here. He could tell by the absolute lack of anything useful.

  Gabriela had been here first. He could tell because even the smallest things were gone—his plastic barrel of food, empty; his air mattress, missing. The Hobbit, gone. The Silmarillion—still here, just unreadable enough to be even more unreadable. Even his plastic spoon had vanished.

  They hadn’t just taken his supplies. They’d wiped him out. They had even dusted.

  Rowan walked through the space, scuffing his boots against the floor.

  Nothing.

  No supplies. No cash. No notes, no clothes, not even his half-burned deck of cards.

  The only thing left was a single can of beans. Rowan crouched down, turning it over in his hands. The label was faded, barely readable. Expired three years ago.

  He sighed. “Great. Dinner’s sorted.”

  He set the can back down and kept moving.

  He leaned against the doorway, staring out at the horizon.

  The desert had reclaimed everything.

  His footprints would vanish by morning.

  Soon, even the memory of this place would fade.

  He could steal, get new clothes, new money, new things. He could go anywhere. But for what? A fight with Thadius? A war between realms? Revenge?

  The silence didn’t have an opinion. Rowan rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the thought. “Not my problem.”

  He climbed out of the cellar and into the open night. The air was cool, crisp. The kind of night that should’ve felt freeing.

  Instead, it just felt empty.

  He flopped down onto the ground, resting his arms behind his head, staring up at the sky.

  The stars stretched endlessly above him—distant, indifferent.

  And for the first time in a long time, he had nowhere to be.

  The night stretched wide around him.

  The desert was a quiet place—not in the way a room went quiet when people stopped talking, but in the way empty spaces had always been quiet.

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  No movement. No voices.

  Just the wind shifting over sand, the distant call of a coyote, the occasional crack of cooling rock.

  Rowan breathed it in, let his mind go blank.

  For once, he wasn’t thinking about the gods, or the demons, or the fact that the universe was probably falling apart.

  He just… lay there.

  He exhaled, watching the sky.

  “Alright, universe,” he muttered. “Loud and clear. I get it. I’m broke, homeless, and my dinner expired three years ago. Real subtle.”

  A noise interrupted him—snuffling, grunting, scraping at the dirt. Rowan froze. His brain caught up half a second too late. No. No, she wouldn’t.

  A deep, snuffling breath ghosted against his cheek. His eye twitched.

  Rowan jerked upright—

  —and found himself completely surrounded.

  Javelinas. At least six.

  The biggest one snorted.

  Rowan squinted at it.

  You wouldn’t.

  One sat beside him. Another casually flopped against his legs. One nosed at his coat. One gnawed on his boot. They all stared at him. Rowan stared back. For a long moment, nobody moved. Then the biggest javelina—an absolute tank of an animal—huffed and stomped a hoof.

  Rowan sighed.

  “I don’t know if this is an act of love or war.”

  The javelina on his chest snorted.

  Then, very deliberately, it curled up and fell asleep.

  Rowan scrubbed a hand down his face.

  “You could’ve sent an owl,” he muttered. “Or a deer. Or literally anything majestic.”

  The largest javelina took this personally, huffing an aggressive snort straight into his face.

  Rowan gagged. “Okay, yeah. Point taken.”

  The one chewing his boot gave one final, victorious chomp, then trotted away like it had just done something important.

  Rowan flopped back onto the sand, exasperated but… smirking.

  The night stretched wide and empty. Not in a bad way, but in a way that said there was space here. Space to breathe.

  The javelina beside him snored.

  “Not bad company,” he muttered. “Could use fewer teeth.”

  “Guess I should’ve brought a deer, then.”

  Rowan stiffened—not at her voice, but at the fact that she wasn’t already yelling.

  He turned his head slightly.

  She wasn’t standing over him, hands on her hips, already listing out his mistakes.

  She stood there, looking at him. Considering.

  Then, just like that, she dropped onto the ground beside him.

  Rowan expected a lecture, but instead… she just sat down.

  She rocked back on her palms, staring at the sky. “I’ve got a job.”

  Rowan huffed a laugh—but it wasn’t mocking.

  A job.

  He turned his head slightly. “For me?”

  “I need a second pair of eyes. The pay’s awful,” she continued. “The work’s worse. But the food’s better than desert mice.”

  Rowan snorted. “You serious?”

  She shrugged. “You need a place. I need someone who won’t get eaten by a pig.”

  Rowan scoffed. “Backup?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That thing where I go into dangerous places and someone watches my back instead of getting himself eaten by a pig.”

  She wasn’t asking. Not really. She wasn’t saying stay or go. But she was here.

  He was still uncertain about Thadius.

  But he knew Gretta was going after her mother.

  And he knew she was going to get in trouble.

  Rowan exhaled slowly. The tension didn’t leave, but it loosened.

  He could leave—chase a lead that didn’t exist, keep running from a thing he didn’t want to name. No one would stop him. Not Ellie, not the gods, not the universe. Not even Gretta.

  She wasn’t looking at him, and she wasn’t pushing. But she’d come looking for him. She wasn’t saying stay. She wasn’t saying go. She was here.

  Rowan dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. The weight in his chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted—just enough.

  “Fine,” he muttered, “but if you call me your assistant, I’m leaving.”

  Gretta snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Sidekick?”

  She shoved his shoulder as she stood. “Don’t push it.”

  She was already walking. Didn’t turn. Didn’t check if he was behind her. Didn’t have to.

  Rowan let out a breath. The desert had nothing left for him—no home, no purpose, no reason to stay. He brushed the dust from his hoodie and followed. No rush.