After breakfast they leave the villa by the narrow path that follows the curve of the lake instead of taking the road.
The stone walkway winds between low walls and terraces thick with climbing vines, the leaves bright and glossy in the late morning sun. The water lies close beside them, near enough that Willow can hear the quiet shifting against the stone embankments below. Light dances across the surface in broken patterns that change with every small movement of the lake, silver flashing and fading as if the water itself were breathing.
Zane walks beside her without hurry, one hand resting loosely at the small of her back whenever the path narrows. There is no urgency in his stride today. No invisible clock measuring the hours. No calls waiting or decisions pressing in from every direction.
Only distance from everything that usually claims him.
