Clarice has a concussion. She stays in the hospital for two days.

  Charlotte knows this because when they come back from winter break, everyone talks about it. In the lunch line. During art class. When Charlotte walks past.

  But they don't talk to Charlotte. They barely look at her.

  It's worse than before. Before, kids avoided her because Clarice said she was weird. Now they avoid her because they're scared.

  Charlotte hears the rumors.

  Charlotte's cursed. That's why she has that mark on her face.

  My mom said she might be dangerous. Like, maybe she has dark powers or something.

  The tree thing was real. My cousin's friend saw it. The tree literally moved.

  Stay away from her.

  Don't make her mad.

  On the first day back, Charlotte tries to sit at her usual spot in the cafeteria—the small table by the window where she always sits alone. But when she gets close, the three kids at the next table over grab their trays and move. They don't say anything. They just leave.

  Charlotte eats her peanut butter sandwich alone, staring out the window. The cafeteria buzzes with conversation, but none of it includes her. She's the only kid sitting by herself.

  At home, things are different too.

  Her parents—Mama with her kind eyes and Papa with his gentle hands—watch her more carefully now. They ask questions:

  How are you feeling, sweetheart?

  Did anything strange happen at school today?

  Do you remember what you were feeling when the tree... when Clarice fell?

  Charlotte doesn't know how to answer. She'd told them the truth the night it happened—that she'd gotten angry at Clarice, that the tree had moved, that she thought maybe she'd done it somehow.

  Papa had gone very quiet. Mama had held her tight and told her everything would be okay.

  But Charlotte isn't sure it will be.

  Because sometimes, when she gets upset or frustrated, she feels that prickling feeling again. Once, when her little brother knocked over her tower of blocks, the toy box lid slammed shut on its own. Another time, when she was crying in her room, the curtains billowed even though the window was closed.

  Charlotte is starting to understand something terrifying: she can do things. Impossible things. And she can't control them.

  She tries to be calm all the time. Tries not to get upset. Tries to be small and quiet and invisible.

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  It's exhausting.

  Weeks pass. January arrives with her birthday, bringing snow and cold winds. Charlotte spends more time in her room, reading and drawing. She draws pictures of girls with normal faces and normal lives who have friends and don't make trees come alive.

  She's lonely. She's scared. And she doesn't know how to fix any of it.

  Then, on a Tuesday morning when she's getting ready for school, everything changes.

  "Charlotte?" Mama's voice calls from downstairs. "Can you come down here, please? Your father and I need to talk to you."

  Charlotte's stomach clenches. That tone—careful, serious—means something's wrong. She closes her book and heads downstairs, heart beating faster with each step.

  Mama and Papa sit at the kitchen table. Between them sits a woman Charlotte has never seen before—tall, with silver-streaked dark hair and kind eyes. On the table in front of them are two objects: an intricate pocket watch and a delicate bracelet that catches the light.

  "Lottie love," Papa says, using the pet name he's called her since she was small. "Come sit down. There's something we need to tell you."

  Charlotte sits, hands clenched in her lap. The woman smiles at her gently.

  "Charlotte, this is Adelia Monike." Mama's voice is steady, but her eyes are red. "She's an old friend. And she has some things to tell you. Things about where you came from."

  Charlotte's mouth goes dry. "What do you mean?"

  Adelia leans forward. "Charlotte, what I'm about to tell you is going to be difficult to hear. But I need you to listen carefully, and know that everything your parents—Mark and Malina—have done has been to keep you safe."

  "Safe from what?"

  "From a very dangerous man." Adelia's expression is grave. "Charlotte, you're adopted."

  The word lands like a physical blow. Charlotte's gaze snaps to Mama, to Papa, searching for denial.

  They're both crying.

  "Is this true?"

  "Yes, sweetheart." Mama reaches across the table. "We wanted to tell you so many times, but—"

  "You lied to me." Charlotte pulls back, chair scraping against the floor. "For ten years."

  "We protected you." Papa's voice is firm. "There's a difference."

  Charlotte's hands prickle with heat. She presses them flat against her thighs, trying to contain the surge of emotion—anger, betrayal, fear—all of it threatening to spill out in ways she can't control.

  "Tell me everything." The words come out steadier than she feels. "Now."

  Adelia nods. "Your birth parents were Liant and Anne Williams. When you were six months old, a dark sorcerer named Garka attacked your home. Your father died protecting you with a spell that left the scar on your cheek—it redirected Garka's curse but couldn't stop it completely. Your mother gave you to us to keep you hidden."

  Charlotte touches her cheek. The rose-shaped mark she's always had, suddenly sinister. "And my eyes?"

  "Your father's light magic. His final gift—protection woven into your very being." Adelia slides the pocket watch and bracelet forward. "These belonged to your parents."

  Charlotte picks up the watch with shaking hands. The letters LDW are inscribed on the back. Liant D. Williams. A man who died for her. A stranger.

  "Where's my mother? Anne."

  "We don't know. She left the country, thought it safer if she didn't know your location. That way Garka couldn't torture it out of her."

  The logic is sound. The reality is devastating. Charlotte presses the watch to her chest.

  "There's more." Adelia's tone shifts, becomes urgent. "There's a prophecy: The child born under the blood moon, marked but not broken, shall shatter the shadow's hold. You were born during a blood moon, Charlotte. Garka knows this. He's been searching for you for ten years, and recently, there have been incidents. Strange magical signatures in the area. We think he's getting close."

  "The tree." Charlotte's voice is barely audible. "When I made it move."

  "Possibly. Which is why you need to go to Aelwynne Academy—a school for young people with magical abilities. The protections there are stronger than anything we can provide."

  Charlotte looks at her parents—the only parents she's ever known. "When?"

  "Within the month."

  "So I'm losing you too."

  "You're not losing us." Papa's voice cracks. "You're growing up. And we'll visit every chance we get."

  Charlotte stands, still clutching the watch. "I need time to think."

  Upstairs, she lies on her bed, staring at the pocket watch in her hands. Everything she thought she knew has crumbled. But beneath the devastation, something else stirs—a tiny spark of possibility.

  Maybe at Aelwynne, she won't be the weird girl with the scar. Maybe she'll finally belong somewhere.