They didn’t hold hands all the way back to the packhouse. That would have been too much, too fast, and Rowan seemed to know it.
He let go of her hand when they reached the edge of the training grounds, his fingers sliding away with a slow, deliberate reluctance that left Aria’s skin tingling in the cold air. He didn’t make a grand speech about it. He just picked up her boots, handed them to her, and walked beside her in a comfortable, companionable silence.
But something fundamental had shifted. The space between them didn't feel like a minefield anymore. It felt like a tether.
When Aria finally reached the washrooms on the ground floor of the packhouse, she turned the tap on full blast. The water was freezing, piped straight down from the mountain streams, but she barely felt the cold.
