The Chosen Crown

The sky above Forks hung heavy with mist, the rain painting streaks down the car windows like quiet sorrows. Seraphina watched them slide, tracing each droplet with the tip of her finger. The world here felt hushed, as if holding its breath.

The gravel crunched beneath the wheels as Cassian pulled their old, dark green Jeep up the winding driveway. The house stood at the end—a two-story cabin framed by towering pines, weathered but solid, its porch light flickering against the gathering dusk.

Cassian killed the engine and leaned back with a sigh. “Home sweet… well, home,” he muttered.

Seraphina smiled faintly. “You always ruin the poetry, Cass.”

He shot her a grin. “Someone’s gotta keep your feet on the ground, Sera.”

She stepped out, the damp air curling around her like an old cloak. The smell of wet earth, pine, and saltwater from the nearby cliffs seeped into her lungs. She liked it. Quiet. Unassuming. The kind of place where secrets could settle into the soil.