Two days from Vineyard, the air tasted like rain and iron.
The highway had given way to low hills and dying orchards. In the distance, vines strangled abandoned farmhouses, their windows dark and watching. The world felt closer to life again, and that closeness sharpened every instinct.
They stopped at sunset.
Felicity pressed her palm to the cracked asphalt. As she exhaled, the space around her shifted, opening as though it breathed with her.
Golden light poured outward. Grass replaced rubble. The air softened. Lanterns flickered to life overhead.
Only the husbands stepped inside.
The seam sealed behind them.
Silence settled, thick but not hostile.
Felicity stood in the centre of her space, braid over her shoulder, fox ears twitching as she pretended not to be nervous.
Damien was the first to let his posture loosen, his body language shifting as he seemed to physically shed the tension of travel.
