The morning broke a slow, creeping gray that seemed to matched the mood within the cottage.
Silence lay between Darius and me like a physical weight, heavy and unyielding as we moved about the small bedroom. There were no gentle touches by the window ledge today, no playful glances shared across the bed.
The reality of our situation had settled deep into our bones during the dark hours of the night, and the energy required to speak felt far too costly to spend.
Even in their wariness, the Whitestar pack maintained their courtesy. Before the sun had fully cleared the eastern peaks, a quiet knock had vibrated through the heavy oak door. When I opened it, no one was there, but a large wooden tray sat upon the stone threshold, bearing a final meal of smoked venison, fresh hearth-bread, and
