Danielle’s gaze drifted from Rowan back to the lake, then to the clearing around it. The light had changed while she was not paying attention. It was no longer the muted gold of afternoon. It was that soft, suspended glow that came just after sunset, when the sun had dipped low enough to lose its edge but not low enough to be gone. Everything was washed in amber and violet, shadows stretched long and gentle, and the lake reflected the sky like polished glass.
John shifted beside Rowan, his voice low and practical. “Let’s be gettin’ ya into some dry clothes, eh?”
Rowan looked down at himself, water-dark fabric clinging to his legs and sleeves. He frowned faintly, more thoughtful than distressed. “It’s ok,” he said simply. “I got it.”
Danielle turned back toward him, unease tightening in
