LYRA POV
I stop at the edge of the clearing, boots sinking into snow, heart skipping a beat. The wind hushes around us, brushing pine needles together like nature itself is holding its breath.
And then I see it.
The cabin.
Warm light flickers through the windows, casting gold over the snow. Smoke curls from the chimney, and a lopsided wreath of pine and lavender—goddess, did he make that?—hangs proudly on the door. Everything smells like cedar and firewood and... effort. Intention. Him.
“Hunter…” I whisper, because I can’t seem to say anything else.
He squeezes my hand. “Come on,” he says softly. “It’s all for you.”
I should have guessed. He’s been disappearing on patrols more often than usual, coming home with snow-dusted hair and a look in his eyes like he’s hiding something. Not
