The door creaked open with a sound that cut through the forest silence. Isla froze where she stood, dagger trembling faintly in her hand. The firelight flickered across the blade, casting gold and orange across her face. She didn't need to look up to know who stood in the doorway.
The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Dante stepped inside slowly, snow melting from his coat and hair, the cold still clinging to him like armor. His eyes found her instantly. He looked exhausted—his skin pale from lack of sleep, dark circles beneath his eyes, a faint tremor in his hand that spoke of too many nights without rest.
But his gaze was steady. Fixed on her like gravity.
"I knew you'd come here," he said quietly. "You always come back to fire when you're cold."
Isla tightened her grip on the dagger. "Don't," she warned, her voice raw. "Stay right there."
