Page 80 of The Moonborn's Curse

As if drawn like a shark by the scent of blood.

He always fell quiet then.

And Seren would offer no more than a nod before walking away.

She tried not to read into the gifts that started appearing at her doorstep. But they weren't random.

A crown woven from wildflowers—laid neatly on the windowsill one misty morning.

A rare herb she'd only read about in a book the Crone had given her, tucked inside her sketchbook.

A bird's nest, untouched, perfect, with two warm speckled eggs still inside.

Mushrooms, the kind she could eat.

A basket of edible berries, still cool with morning dew.

They all carried the same scent.

Hagan's scent.

Woodsmoke. Damp leaves.

Like the woods after rain.

She never asked.

Never thanked him.

But she noticed.

And he knew she did.

When she passed Hagan in the halls or trained with him, she sometimes whispered things.

Not whole sentences.

Just enough to make him look at her.

"Taris's younger sister keeps missing meals. She says nothing."

"Marlen's boy has been limping. His mother's too proud to ask for help."

"That girl who stares at Lia with hate in her eyes? You might want to move her to a different sparring group."

He never asked how she knew.

But he always listened.

And more than once—she noticed the right people being moved, or helped, or gently redirected.

He was changing.

So was she.

They weren't friends.

Not exactly.

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