Ashcombe had that restless feel all night. Rain tapped on the windows like it was keeping time with its own thoughts—steady for a bit, then it’d just go off in bursts, like it got distracted. Out past the glass, the streets looked… different. Not empty, not busy, but like they were leaning in to whisper to each other.
I stayed in my study, mostly because the fire was throwing out a bit of heat and I didn’t feel like moving. Every so often it’d spit a sharp pop, like it wanted to be part of the conversation. The ring sat dead center on the desk, glinting in a way that made it feel like it was staring back. Daring me to touch it.
Wren was pacing. Not aimlessly, either—just this tight little loop near the fireplace. Arms folded. Eyes flicking to the clock like she was trying to slow it down
