The quiet evening started ordinarily enough, a fire in the grate, rain beginning to tap softly against the windows, the particular hush of a house settling into night while the storm outside gathered strength.
Callum had stayed later than usual, the conversation drifting into comfortable silence after they'd finished the dishes together, and Wren found him standing at the window watching the rain build over the ridge, something distant and unguarded in his expression that she'd rarely seen from him before.
"You look like you're somewhere else," she said, coming to stand beside him.
"I'm thinking about my mother," he admitted, which surprised her, given how carefully he usually rationed out pieces of that particular grief. "She loved storms. Used to open all the windows during summer rai
