Morning came quietly.
The first rays of sunlight crept through the mist-veiled forest that surrounded the secluded mountain cabin, painting faint gold across the wooden floorboards.
The air was still cool, touched by the night's lingering chill, but inside the cabin, warmth settled—a kind of peaceful warmth, thick with the scent of old timber, fading embers from the hearth, and something far softer, more intangible.
Malvoria was already awake.
She lay there in silence for a moment, one arm folded behind her head, eyes trained on the wooden ceiling beams above, though her thoughts were miles away.
Next to her, Elysia was still asleep, her breathing steady and soft, her silver hair tumbling in a wild mess over the pillows. One arm had found its way across Malvoria's waist again something that was becoming oddly frequent these days.
It was the kind of embrace that clung even in sleep, the kind that whispered without words: Don't go yet.
