The first thing I felt was the warm sand burning against my back. It was rough on my shoulders, heavy in my hair. Then I registered two strong hands holding me close.
I jerked away.
Cassi startled awake. He blinked, dazed, and a faint flush rose to his cheeks. We both looked away.
The fur beneath us was damp with morning dew, crumpled in wet sand. The sun was already high—how had we slept so long?
"Vie..." Cassi said softly.
"Shall we call the birds and have breakfast?" I cut in, my voice too light, too quick. I wasn't ready to think about what I'd been doing—or feeling.
Cassi nodded and whistled his melody. Birds fluttered down with fruits in their claws. We ate in silence, sitting in the shade just past the tree line. I kept catching Cassi watching me. Each time, I turned away before he could say what he clearly wanted to.
Afterward, I took out a sliver of bark and the nub of charcoal and began sketching notes on the stories I'd seen in the stars. It felt good—familiar—to do schoolwork, to anchor myself in something that made sense. Tree nymphs were a kind of nature spirit, after all. Just like the Blossom Ascendant from Father's book.
I tried to focus, but Juno wouldn't stop nibbling at my ear. I patted her absentmindedly, which only stirred her up more.
Cassi cleared his throat.
"Vie, about last night—"
"We were tired," I said quickly, waving him off.
"Vie," he said again, more firmly. "Would you... star-gaze with me again tonight?"
I blinked. The question caught me off guard. I looked down at my bark-scratched notes and nodded.
"Cassi," I said, trying to keep it casual, "Are there other people... in this jungle?"
His expression sharpened. "Other people?"
"Humans," I clarified. "Like us. For research."
He hesitated. "No. Not within a day's walk. Maybe farther."
"But surely there must be a village somewhere? A tribe native to this region?"
His jaw tightened. "There has not been a settlement here in my lifetime. The birds would have brought word. No one comes here."
"Why not?" I asked, flopping backward into the sand. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above. "It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."
"They're not welcome," he said, too quickly.
"Not welcome how?"
Cassi exhaled sharply. "You're the first human I've met here. Apart from my father."
That landed hard. I couldn't imagine such loneliness. At least I'd had Tails.
"Have you ever been to the mainland?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
He snorted. "You call it the mainland because that's where the humans live?"
"That's what the textbooks call it."
"And what do they call this place?"
"Undefined Jungle," I said, frowning.
He gave me a look. "Humans think they own whatever they name. But they don't know this land. They wouldn't love it the way you or I do."
"But I am human," I said quietly.
He paused. "And yet you came. You saw its beauty and stayed."
"I came to study it," I reminded him.
He ignored that. "This is our home."
Something in his voice shifted. It tripled into strange, echoing chords—vibrations that prickled across my skin. I flinched, heart pounding. And then, just as quickly, it stopped. Cassi knelt beside me, gentle again.
"I would never hurt you," he whispered. "I'm not like your father. You and I—we're alone together. Forever."
I nodded, unsure what I was agreeing to. Maybe I would return here after my research was done. Maybe I would start a new study. There was still so much I didn't know—about the nymphs. About Cassi.
But then something sharp twisted in my chest. Did I really want to share this place with the world I came from? A world that never loved Olivie enough to keep her safe? That tried to trap Talla in a life she didn't choose? Father's world, where Mother could die while he just stood there?
"You're thinking about your father," Cassi murmured. He sat beside me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders like a shield. "He won't lay a finger on you again."
I rested my head against him. We watched the waves, soft and steady on the shore. This place, wild and unspoiled, called to something deep in me. Something I hadn't known was starving.
I let my charcoal slip from my hand and flopped back into the sand. A tiny crab in an iridescent shell scuttled past. I tried to recall what my textbooks had said about its species—and came up empty.
Their knowledge was slipping from me, grain by grain. Maybe I was being rewritten, too.