Thunder cracked through the night.

The storm hit without warning—rain hammering the tin roof of the old cabin, lightning flashing through broken windowpanes. The place smelled of wet wood and rust, a forgotten refuge swallowed by the forest.

Aria sat by the dying fire, her damp clothes steaming faintly from the heat. She’d found an old blanket, rough and torn, and wrapped it loosely around her shoulders. Lucien stood near the window, the dim orange glow from the fire carving his silhouette ...