Evelyn woke to birdsong.
Real, sweet, haunting birdsong.
The forest felt different—softer, somehow. The trees no longer whispered threats. The air wasn't thick with dread. She blinked up at the wooden ceiling of the cabin, and the faint scent of herbs and smoke drifted around her.
A fire crackled nearby.
And Silas… was watching her.
---
He sat beside the hearth, his eyes no longer glowing silver, but something gentler. His shirt was torn and bloodied, his knuckles raw.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
"I'm alive," she murmured.
He gave a faint nod. "You were nearly gone."
"You stayed with me?"
He didn't answer. Just held out a bowl of broth.
She sat up slowly, their hands brushing as she took it. The touch sparked something that traveled through her like a tremor—hot, trembling, unfamiliar.
Evelyn looked at him—really looked.
Not the claws. Not the fur. Not the beast.
But the man beneath it.
Scarred. Cursed. Lonely.
---
"You could have let me die," she whispered.
Silas looked away. "I wanted to. At first."
"What changed?"
His voice came low. Unsteady.
> "You looked at me… like I was still human."
The fire between them pulsed.
Slowly, Evelyn reached across the space, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. He flinched—not from fear, but from disbelief. As if her touch burned and healed at the same time.
"You are," she said.
He caught her hand—claws barely brushing her skin—and for a moment, neither of them breathed.
A beat passed.
Two.
And then his lips touched her palm.
Soft. Reverent. Like a man worshipping the one thing that could destroy or save him.
---