CHAPTER 08 — THE NIGHT, THEN MORNING
971 Words
The night stretched longer than it should have.
The storm didn’t ease. It pressed harder against the lodge, rattling the
windows, forcing the world outside into something unreachable. Inside,
the air stayed thick—quiet, tense, waiting.
Elara lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling she’d memorized by now. Every
sound felt louder in the dark: the wind, the soft creak of wood, the
controlled rhythm of Jace’s breathing from across the room.
She shifted.
The bed dipped slightly, the mattress responding to her movement. The
small sound felt intimate, exposed.
“Can’t sleep?” Jace asked softly.
“No,” she admitted. “You?”
He paused. “Not really.”
Silence settled again, heavier than before.
“This is a bad idea,” Elara said into the dark, not fully sure what she
meant.
“Yes,” Jace replied without hesitation.
She exhaled. “You didn’t even ask why.”
“Because it doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re still thinking about it.”
Her fingers tightened in the blanket. “You don’t make this easy.”
“I’m not trying to,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to be careful.”
The word careful lingered between them.
Elara rolled onto her side, facing him. She could just make out his
silhouette in the low light—the broad line of his shoulders, the stillness
that told her he was watching her too.
“Do you ever stop?” she asked.
“Stop what?”
“Guarding,” she said. “Me. This. Yourself.”
A pause. Then: “No.”
The honesty hit deeper than she expected.
The wind howled, closer now, and the lodge creaked in response. The sound
made her shiver—part cold, part nerves.
Before she could think better of it, she said, “Jace… can you—”
He moved instantly.
Not to her.
Just closer.
He stood beside the bed, careful not to touch, presence warm and solid.
“I’m here,” he said.
She nodded, embarrassed by the relief that flooded her chest. “I just
needed to know you were awake.”
“I am,” he replied. “I will be.”
The simple promise did something dangerous to her composure.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. The storm raged on.
Elara’s eyelids grew heavy despite herself.
“Jace?” she murmured, voice softer now.
“Yes.”
“If this ends,” she said slowly, “will it feel like everything else?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“No,” he said finally. “It’ll feel like something unfinished.”
Her chest tightened.
Sleep took her after that—uneven, fragile, filled with half-dreams of
warmth and safety she didn’t quite understand.
—
Morning came quietly.
The storm had softened into a pale hush, snow blanketing everything in
white. Light filtered through the window, gentle and cold.
Elara woke slowly.
The first thing she noticed was warmth.
Not the heater.
Him.
She wasn’t sure how it happened—only that she’d drifted closer in the
night, that the chair was empty, that Jace now sat on the edge of the bed,
back against the headboard, arm folded in a way that gave her space while
still shielding her from the cold.
Her head rested near his shoulder.
She froze.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
He was awake.
“Jace,” she whispered, heart racing.
“I know,” he replied softly.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I moved you,” he said. “You were shaking.”
She swallowed. “I crossed a rule.”
“No,” he said calmly. “I did.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve without thinking.
He noticed—but didn’t comment.
Outside, voices drifted through the lodge. Morning sounds. Life resuming.
Jace shifted carefully, giving her time to sit up without rushing her.
There was no awkwardness in his movements—just respect.
“Road’s still closed,” he said. “But it should clear by noon.”
She nodded, heart still beating too fast.
“I should apologize,” she said.
“For what?”
“For trusting you so easily.”
He turned to her fully now. “You didn’t trust me. You trusted how you felt
with me.”
That somehow felt worse.
Breakfast was quiet. The lodge buzzed again, people joking about the
storm, taking pictures of the snow. Elara stayed close to Jace without
meaning to. He stayed close without pointing it out.
They didn’t touch much.
They didn’t need to.
Her mother watched them over coffee, eyes thoughtful.
Later, as they stepped outside to check the road, Elara breathed in the
cold, clear air. The world looked clean, reset.
“This morning feels different,” she said.
“It should,” Jace replied. “Storms change things.”
She glanced at him. “Do you regret staying?”
“No.”
“Do you regret… us?”
He met her gaze, serious and steady. “I don’t regret choices I make with
my eyes open.”
Her chest warmed.
A car started somewhere down the path. The road was clearing.
Normalcy crept back in, unwelcome and inevitable.
Jace adjusted his jacket. “Once we leave here, people will expect the
same performance.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“And Elara?” he added quietly.
“Yes?”
“Last night doesn’t mean we rush,” he said. “But it does mean we don’t
pretend it didn’t happen.”
Her heart fluttered.
“Okay,” she said.
As they walked back inside, side by side, Elara realized something with
startling clarity:
The storm hadn’t broken them.
It had shifted the ground beneath their feet.
And whatever came next would be harder to walk away from.
- Writer
