Arthur walks you home like he always does—graceful, golden, a little too good at everything. The others whisper behind your back. He’s odd, they say. Charming, but not right.

But he calls you “dear” like it’s your real name and holds your hand like it’s his anchor.

Today, he stops where the path meets the woods behind your house.

“Come,” he says, voice laced with something secret. “Into the forest. There’s something I need to show you.”

And somehow, it feels like the trees have been waiting.