Chapter 3

The days in the cell blurred together. The physical exhaustion from fighting the blight combined with the deep ache of betrayal settled into my bones. A persistent cough started, dry and hacking. My skin grew pale, and the sheriff started looking at me with real concern. The feather at my neck felt cool and limp, its usual warmth gone. It felt like it was dying along with me.

On the fifth day, just as I was drifting into a feverish sleep, I heard a new voice in the sheriff's office. It was a smooth, confident voice, used to giving orders.

"I'm here to post bail for Ethan."

Sheriff Davis sounded surprised. "Bail has been set, but... who are you?"

"My name is Julian Croft. I'm an old acquaintance of his. Here is the cashier's check. It should be more than enough."

I didn't recognize the name at first. Then, a memory surfaced through the fog in my head. Julian Croft. A wealthy man who owned a massive tract of land on the other side of the county. He wasn't a farmer, he was a land developer, a businessman from the city who had bought the land as an investment.

About a year ago, his prize-winning racehorse, a magnificent black stallion, had fallen gravely ill. The vets had given up on it. In desperation, he had heard the rumors about me and had shown up at my door, offering a staggering amount of money.

I had refused the money. I went with him to his sterile, modern barn and saw the horse. It was beautiful, but its breathing was shallow, its eyes dull with pain. I spent hours with the animal, my hand on its neck, feeling the sickness inside it. I coaxed the life back into it, pushing the disease out until the stallion finally stood on its own, shaky but alive.

Croft had been stunned. He tried to press a thick envelope of cash into my hand.

"I can't take this," I had told him. "I don't do it for money."

He had looked at me with a strange, calculating expression. "Everyone does it for money, son. You just haven't figured out your price yet."

He left after that, and I hadn't seen him since. Until now.

The cell door swung open. Julian Croft stood there, dressed in an expensive suit that looked out of place in the dusty sheriff's station. He was handsome in a sharp, predatory way, with cold blue eyes.

"Come on, Ethan," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You look terrible."

I was too weak to argue. He led me out of the station and into a sleek black car that hummed quietly. The leather seats were cool against my feverish skin.

He drove me to his estate, a massive modern house that looked like it was made of glass and steel. It was the opposite of Havenwood in every way. Inside, he had a doctor waiting. The doctor gave me an injection that eased the ache in my chest and cleared my head a little.

When the doctor left, Croft sat across from me in a white leather armchair.

"You're a valuable asset, Ethan," he began, his voice smooth as silk. "Too valuable to be rotting in a small-town jail because of some ungrateful farmers."

"You bailed me out," I said, my voice hoarse. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "It was an investment. I have a problem, and you are the solution."

A cold feeling trickled down my spine.

"I'm building a luxury resort and golf course up in the mountains," he continued. "But we've hit a snag. The land is... stubborn. The soil is poor, the water is scarce. The project is falling behind schedule, and I'm losing money."

He leaned forward, his blue eyes locking onto mine.

"You're going to fix it for me. You'll live here, in comfort. I'll give you anything you want. Food, clothes, entertainment. In return, you will make my land fertile. You will make it a paradise."

It wasn't a request. It was a demand, wrapped in a pretty package. He hadn't saved me out of kindness. He had purchased me. I had just traded one cage for another, a larger, more comfortable one.

"No," I said quietly.

Croft's smile vanished. "What did you say?"

"I said no. My ability... it's not for that. It's not for making a rich man's golf course green."

He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight. The friendly mask was gone, and I saw the cold, ruthless man underneath.

"You don't seem to understand your position, Ethan," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You are a fugitive. Your hick town wants to lock you up. I am the only thing standing between you and a prison cell. You don't have the right to say no."

"I'm not your tool," I said, my strength returning with a surge of defiance.

He stood up and walked over to me. Before I could react, he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. The pain was sharp and sudden.

"You are whatever I say you are," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "I own you now. You will do as I say."

He shoved my head back against the chair and straightened his suit jacket. The mask was back on, the cold smile in place.

But I had seen what was behind it. And in that moment of pain and humiliation, as I looked at this man who thought he could buy and sell miracles, I felt the feather at my neck tremble, not with weakness, but with something else. Something cold and ancient.

I looked at him, at his expensive suit and his perfect house, and I spoke, my voice raspy but clear.

"You're going to regret this, Mr. Croft. You're going to wish you had left me in that cell."

He just laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Is that a threat? From a boy who can barely stand? Get some rest, Ethan. Your work starts tomorrow."

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone in the gilded cage he had built for me. The ache in my chest was back, but this time, it was mixed with a cold, hard anger.