Waverly's Arc

Chapter 13 of 13

The sheriff returned three days later with a wagon full of weathered wooden signs. He'd ridden to every site marked on the maps, planted warnings at each location, and sent word to the growers her grandmother had documented. Lovelock helped him unload the last sign—a broad plank painted with bold letters spelling CURSED GROUNDS. They leaned it against the market's edge where everyone could see. The sheriff wiped dust from his hands and nodded toward the aged scrolls still spread across Lovelock's counter. "Every name's been warned," he said. "Every site's been marked. The riders won't find any leverage left to use." Waverly watched vendors gather around the sign, reading it, asking questions. Lovelock answered each one directly—no evasion, no softening of the truth. The burial ground secret was no longer something that could be traded or threatened. It was public knowledge now, stripped of its power. A few vendors packed up their stalls and left immediately. Others stayed, making their choice with open eyes. Lovelock rolled the maps and tucked them back into the chest. She locked the brass latch and met Waverly's gaze across the counter. "The riders will still come," she said quietly. "But they'll have nothing we haven't already given away." Waverly nodded, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders. The threat hadn't disappeared—but Lovelock had removed its teeth by refusing to let it remain hidden. The market continued around them, smaller now but steadier. Waverly's network had bought them time, and Lovelock had used it to choose truth over safety. The flower business would survive not because they'd hidden from danger, but because they'd faced it without flinching. Waverly stepped away from the doorway and joined her niece at the counter, ready for whatever came next.