The grey light of dawn was seeping through the window when I woke, pale and soft, painting the stone walls in shades of silver and pearl. The fire had burned down to embers, casting a faint, warm glow across the room. The shadows were long, the silence deep, and the world outside seemed distant, muffled, as if wrapped in a blanket of snow.
I was not alone.
Kaelen lay beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his body warm against mine. His chest rose and fell with each slow, steady breath, and his face was peaceful in sleep, the lines of tension eased, and the shadows under his eyes lighter. He looked younger like a boy, unburdened by the weight of the North, unguarded and vulnerable.
I did not move. I did not want to wake him. I simply lay there, watching him sleep, memorizing the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead.
