Ryker's POV
Ayla's footsteps carved a steady path through the snow.
I stayed a few steps behind, close enough to reach her if something happened and far enough not to crowd her. The distance was deliberate on both sides. The cold bit at my fingers and stung my ears, and I ignored it.
She moved fast, like the morning itself couldn't touch her. Every step was a statement. Not running, not hiding. Just moving forward, with a quiet attitude that I was starting to recognize as entirely hers.
Soren's red cloak sat over her shoulders, the only real color in a world of white and grey. It didn't soften her. If anything, it made her look sharper and more untouchable, harder to reach. I didn't let that get under my skin.
Or I tried not to.
The coffee shop bell rang as she pushed through the doo
