ANDRÉ’S POV
She was light in my arms, like a breath of wind or a prayer answered far too late.
Genevieve didn’t speak as I carried her inside the pack house. She didn’t need to. Her silence was loud, weighted with exhaustion and trust, and that was more powerful than any words. My arms cradled her as if she were made to fit against me, fragile but real, hers the only warmth I needed after all the cold I’d walked through to bring her back.
My boots echoed against the hardwood floors, the stillness of the house almost sacred as I made my way to the bedroom. I kept my steps slow, measured, like one wrong move would break the spell or worse, break her all over again.
When I reached the edge of the bed, I bent to set her down gently.
But the moment I tried, her arms locked around my neck, small and trembling, but desperate.
She clung to me like she was afraid I might vanish. Like I was the only thing anchoring her to this earth.
“Genevieve…” I whispered, brushing a few strands of tangled h
