Inside, the packhouse smelled like coffee. Someone had put a pot on, probably Arlo. The wood floor creaked under our steps. The fire in thefireplace had burned down to glowing embers, casting soft orange light across the room.
I curled up on the couch and pulled a blanket over my legs. I didn’t really need it—the energy in my blood kept me warm—but the weight of it grounded me. Asher perched on the armrest next to me, close enough that our knees brushed.
He studied me quietly. “When you fell.” He said slowly, “I thought you were gone. For real this time.”
My chest tightened at the memory—not with fear, but with the pull I had felt toward him. “I wasn’t.” I said softly. “I was just… finding my way back.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered, warm a
