The silence of the garden crept into Rowan's awareness before he was fully awake, telling him he needed to hurry even though he couldn't yet remember why.
There was no birdsong or breeze. No tinkle of his wind chimes or sigh of air through the flowers that spoke only to him.
There was only the deafening wrongness that echoed what he already felt…a reflection through the magic that bound him to the place he'd created.
Rowan forced his eyes open and pushed himself to his feet. He blinked groggily at the plot of souls in front of him, only vaguely noticing that one was missing.
His cheeks were hot, and he felt feverish because of the amount of energy inside him.
His fingers drifted to his lips, which tingled with a kiss of Disorder. A hint of cinnamon lingered in his nostrils, a ghost of Wren's scent and nothing more.
Rowan's heart lurched, and suddenly it all rushed back to him.
