The cave smelled of damp stone and lingering smoke. The fire burned low, casting restless shadows along the jagged walls. It should have felt like safety—shelter—but it didn't. Not after everything.
Taryn sat near the flames, her arms braced over her knees, fingers curled tight. The weight of the night pressed in from all sides. The battle. The fire. The loss of their home. The wreckage of trust still sitting heavy between them.
Her hands trembled, just slightly. She could still feel the warmth of the cabin fire licking at her skin, could still hear the crackling timbers as everything they'd built burned to nothing but embers. The smell of ash and blood clung to her clothes. They had barely made it out alive.
But they had made it. Somehow.
Lucien hadn't spoken in a while.