The morning light was gray and thin. It seeped through the clouds like watered-down milk. Kaelen stood at the edge of the cliff. The wind whipped his hair across his face. Salt clung to his lips. His skin felt tight from the spray.
Below him, Breakwater sprawled along the coast. A cluster of buildings huddled against the rock. Wooden piers jutted into the churning sea. Fishing boats bobbed at anchor. Their masts swayed in the constant wind.
The place smelled of fish and brine and wet rope. The smell of survival.
He had walked through the night to get here. The bond hummed in his chest. Lysander's presence was a steady warmth. A reminder that he was not alone. But the distance between them stretched thin. Lysander had wanted to come but he had something to tend to Kaelen convinced him that he would be alright.
