The fire in the hearth had burned low, its light barely flickering against the cabin walls. Taryn lay limp in Kah'el's lap, her shallow breaths brushing faintly against his chest. His arms encircled her in an unyielding grip, as though loosening his hold might let her slip away entirely.
Lucien leaned against his shoulder, his head tipped just enough to rest lightly against Kah'el. Every line of his posture was slack with exhaustion, his breath slow but uneven. Between them, the cabin felt impossibly still—quiet except for the low crackle of dying embers.
Kah'el shifted slightly, not to stand, but to settle deeper against the wall as the faint light of morning began to creep through the warped window pane. His gaze hadn't strayed from Taryn's face, his features drawn tight, his thoughts distant.