POV: Ember Wellesley.
The light filtered soft and gold through the wide windows. Ember stood by her desk, flipping through a stack of prints—her recent work. Mostly quiet shots: the way moss clung to the base of pine trees after rain, a deer frozen mid-step in the mist, and one she kept setting aside but couldn’t ignore—
A photo she’d taken during a sleepless night.
The earth had cracked open just past the southern ridge, steam curling from the soil like breath. In the center of the frame stood Asher, half in shadow, half bathed in silver light, his expression unreadable. The mountain loomed behind him like something ancient and watchful.
She hadn’t meant to capture *that*, not exactly. But the moment had been real. Raw.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER.**
She
