Allie felt it before she saw it.
Not the faint pull from before, not something lingering at the edge of her awareness. This was different, stronger, closer, and wrong in a way she could not explain.
She stopped.
Erik took two more steps before realizing she had not followed. He turned, his expression sharpening as he looked back at her. “What is it?”
Allie did not answer.
Her gaze had locked onto something across the street. At first it did not make sense. It was just a tree.
Except it was not.
It stood too close to the building and too far from any patch of soil that could have sustained it. Its trunk was split and peeling, bark hanging in long, dry strips like something that had been dragged instead of grown. One side leaned slightly, as if it had forgotten how to hold its own weight.
There was no root bed, no proper base, just cracked pavement.
And yet it stood.
The air around it felt wrong. Not cold, not warm. Just…off. Like the ground beneath it had been disturbed and never settled back.
Allie’s chest tightened. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”
Erik’s posture shifted beside her, attention sharpening before anything in the tree itself moved. He followed her line of sight, his expression still, but she felt the change in him through the bond as his awareness locked in. “That shouldn’t be there at all,” he said.
The bond at her collarbone pulsed, not sharp or violent, but deep, like something answering from far below.
Allie took a step forward before she could stop herself. The pull was no longer subtle. It was direction.
“Hey,” Erik said, catching her wrist.
“I need to see it.”
“You need to think. That thing looks like it’s about to fall over.”
“It walked.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Erik stilled. “What?”
Allie shook her head, frustration tightening her voice. “I don’t know. It just feels wrong, like it shouldn’t be here, but it didn’t just grow here either.”
She pulled her wrist free, slower this time.
The tree creaked, low and dry, almost swallowed by the noise of the street, but she heard it and felt something in her chest answer.
Allie froze.
The bark shifted again, and a thin strip peeled loose and fell, tapping softly against the concrete. No wind. No reason. Just movement.
Erik stepped in front of her without fully blocking her view. “We’re not doing this blind. If it’s magic, it’s unstable. If it’s not magic, it’s worse.”
Allie barely heard him. Her focus had narrowed to a single point.
The tree leaned toward her.
Her breath caught. “Do you see that?”
“I see a dying tree,” Erik said. “And I see you about to walk straight up to it.”
“It’s looking at me.”
“That’s not a thing trees do.”
“It is right now.”
The bond pulsed again, stronger this time, not storm, not fire, but something deeper, older, calling.
Allie took another step.
Erik moved with her, close enough to grab her again if needed.
The tree creaked louder. A branch twitched. Moving.
Allie stopped just a few feet away.
Up close, it looked worse. The bark was brittle and splintering, sections worn down to pale wood beneath. Thin twigs clung to the ends of branches like they were barely holding on. It should have collapsed already, but it had not.
The tree went still.
Then slowly, something shifted along its trunk. A hollow. No. An opening, like something inside it was trying to remember how to be seen.
Erik’s grip tightened. “Allie…”
The bark cracked. A piece broke free and hit the ground between them.
Then, from deep inside the trunk, a voice creaked into the air. “Storm girl.”
Allie’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Erik went completely still.
The tree leaned closer. “Found.”
Allie’s skin prickled. “No. No. I’m not doing this again.”
The tree blinked slowly. “Storm girl wake tree. Loud wake. Hurt.”
Erik stepped forward. “What are you?”
The tree ignored him, its focus fixed on Allie. “Storm girl touched root. Root touched egg. Egg touched storm girl.”
Allie froze. “Say that again.”
A branch snapped and fell.
“Pieces fall,” it muttered. “Tree old. Roots thin.”
“Who are you? What’s your name?” Allie asked.
It scoffed. “Humans. Always naming.”
“We like names. What do other trees call you?”
The dryad blinked. “Tree.”
Allie stared. “They call you tree.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a new one.”
The dryad pointed across the street. “Him tree.”
“Yes.”
“Him tree too.”
“All of them are trees.”
“Yes.”
She pointed to a small sapling growing through a crack in the pavement. “And him.”
“Him sprite.”
“But them tree.”
“Him sprite. Not tree yet.”
“Why?”
“Because him sprite.”
She shut her eyes briefly. “That’s not an answer.”
“Answer is answer.”
Allie groaned softly. “I hate that I understand you.”
Erik let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
Allie pointed at him without looking. “I’ll zap you.”
“Noted, Counsellor.”
She turned back. “Fine. Tree. Why me?”
The dryad leaned closer. “Storm-line loud. Woke egg.”
“Egg. What egg?”
“Egg egg.”
She sighed. “Right. Egg egg.”
The dryad pointed at her. “Storm girl speak tree.”
“I’m not speaking tree.”
“You did.”
“You’re impossible.”
The dryad leaned closer again. “Storm girl help tree.”
Allie’s breath caught.
“Egg in danger.”
Erik straightened immediately. “Danger from what?”
The dryad shook, leaves falling in a brittle cascade. “Shadow coming.”
It leaned closer still. “Old shadow.”
A crack split deeper along its trunk. “Hungry.”
Allie stared at it.
“Egg call,” it said.
Her pulse kicked. “Call me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The tree went quiet.
For a long moment, it did not move at all.
Then, softer:
“Same.”
Her breath caught. “Same how?”
The branch lowered slightly, like it no longer had the strength to hold itself up. “Storm,” it said. “Old storm.”
The bond at her collarbone flared, not sharp, but deep and answering.
Allie sucked in a breath.
Erik’s hand tightened on her arm. “Allie.”
She barely heard him. “Where is it?”
The dryad stilled.
Then slowly, it shook. “Tree lost.”
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
“That is not good,” Erik said.
“No,” Allie whispered. “It is not.”
The dryad swayed, and a strip of bark tore loose and hit the ground. “Tree go.”
“Go where?” Allie asked.
“Tree go.”
She stepped forward. “Wait.”
A branch lifted weakly. “Storm girl come.”
“…Where?”
The dryad did not answer.
It was already leaning back, fading. “Tree find,” it said, voice splintering. “Now storm girl find.”
Allie stood there long after the words faded.
The tree did not move again.
Erik stepped closer to her side. “It’s dying.”
“Whatever it is, it’s very old.”
“We should leave. If it falls…”
“I know.”
Her voice was quiet.
“It found me,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It crossed a city to do it.”
“Yes.”
“And now it can’t even remember why.”
Erik said nothing.
The bond pulsed once, slow and fading.
Allie stepped back.
It felt wrong. Leaving felt wrong.
But staying would not change what was already breaking.
“We’ll be back,” Erik said.
She nodded once.
They turned toward the car.
Behind them, the tree stood silent, holding itself together.
For now.