The sun had dipped low enough to paint the sky in shades of deep purple and burnt orange by the time we rode back toward the manor. The wind felt cooler now, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil from the forest, but I didn’t feel the cold—not with Damon riding so close, his knee brushing against mine every few steps, his hand still wrapped tight around mine where our arms rested between our horses. There was no rush, no need to speak; every quiet moment felt like a treasure, soft and precious, like the quiet parts of a song you never want to end.
When the tall stone walls of the estate came into view, lanterns were already being lit along the paths, glowing warm and golden against the growing dusk. A few guards stood at the gates, straightening instantly as they saw us approach
