Morning came slowly, filtered through mist and pine.
Julius woke before the sun crested the hills, eyes opening to the quiet aftermath of violence.
The fire had burned down to a bed of dull embers, the scent of smoke and cooked meat still clinging to the clearing.
Dew coated the grass, turning every blade into a silver thread that caught the faint early light.
Serena was still asleep against him.
Sometime in the night she had shifted fully onto his shoulder, one hand curled into the front of his cloak as though anchoring herself there.
Her breathing was even now, the tension of the previous evening finally worked out of her body by exhaustion.
Julius remained still.
He had learned long ago that after fear, sleep was fragile.
Let her have it.
His gaze drifted outward, scanning the treeline out of habit.
No eyes watched them now.
No movement beyond birds hopping between branches, curious and bold in the daylight.
Only then did he allow himself to relax.
