The guest house was quiet, tucked against the outer edge of the main circle of dens, surrounded by stone-lined paths and tall, sun-dappled trees. Birds rustled overhead, and low wind danced through the open windows, carrying scents of damp earth, ashwood, and the distant hum of something spiced and roasted. Dinner was being prepared. Lexara stood by the basin in the small washroom, wiping the trail-dust from her arms and neck with a damp cloth. The soft fibers picked up flecks of silver mist still clinging faintly to her skin — Veyra’s trace, never fully gone. Eamon sat near the open doorway, boots off, long legs stretched in front of him, hands resting on his knees. His shirt was fresh. His hair still damp from the brief rinse in the basin they'd shared. Neither of them spoke for a while. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he finally asked, not looking up. Lexara didn’t answer right away. She folded the cloth neatly and set it aside, then met her reflection in the mirror — sharp
Last Updated : 2026-01-12 Read more