As the night deepened, the room changed with it. The raw grief that had filled every corner just hours ago had softened into something quieter and more fragile, like the first thin ice forming over still water. It was not happiness exactly. It was the feeling of two people who had said the hardest things out loud and were still, somehow, in the same room afterward.
Alaric had not moved from Silas's side. But he was different now. The demanding, consuming presence that usually filled every space he occupied had pulled back into something gentler. He sat with his back against the wall beside the fireplace, his hand resting near Silas's on the cushion between them.
Not touching. Just close. Waiting, for the first time in his life, for permission before making any move at all.
The fire crackled and breathed between them. The orange flames threw long, shifting shadows across the stone walls, making the room feel older and warmer than it actually was.
