The fire had burned low, casting the room in a soft, amber glow that seemed to hold its breath. The shadows danced on the stone walls, stretching and shrinking with each flicker of the dying flames. The silence was heavy, thick with everything that had been said and everything that remained unspoken. The afternoon light had shifted, the grey of early morning giving way to the deeper grey of approaching evening, and the room had grown colder.
Kaelen sat beside Rosalind on the window seat, his hand still holding hers, his thumb tracing absent circles on her skin. The grey light of the northern afternoon filtered through the glass, painting the room in shades of silver and pearl. Outside, the wind whispered through the passes, carrying the distant cry of a mountain bird and the faint scent of snow.
