Brooks' POV
Brooks stood just outside the weathered wooden gate, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, trying not to fidget like some anxious pup. The chill in the air wasn't what made him shiver.
The small cottage nestled in the crook of the hill looked like something pulled from a fairy tale—mossy stone walls, curling ivy, smoke curling from a narrow chimney. Nyx walked ahead of him without hesitation, her braid swinging between her shoulder blades, her stride relaxed in a way that only came from being home.
Brooks? Not so much.
He was half-convinced the herbs strung across the doorframe were watching him. And the wind? It whispered through the trees like it carried secrets. Old ones.
Nyx looked back and offered him a small smile. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he lied.
She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. "No. This place gives me the creeps."
Nyx reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "She's going to love you. And she's not going to turn you into a frog. Probably."
