Rising Heat

Sabine's POV...

The healer's den smelled strange.

Not of crushed leaves and warm resin, not of comfort and certainty—but of absence.

I knew it the moment I stepped inside.

The shelves were bare in places they should never be bare. Clay jars sat open, empty. Mortar bowls were clean when they should've been stained dark with recent use.

My jaw tightened.

"Tell me this is a mistake," I