The cabin smelled like cedar and longing.
Elira stepped inside just as the storm broke over the valley—wind howling through the trees like it knew her heart was about to break in two.
She held the key Soren gave her hours ago. She hadn’t told Damien. Hadn’t made promises. Just vanished. Again.
But for once, she wasn’t running.
She was choosing.
Soren stood at the fireplace. Shirtless. Silent.
“You came,” he said, without turning.
“I had to.”
“Did you?”
She stepped forward. “You asked me to come if I still wanted you. I do.”
He finally turned. Eyes stormier than the world outside.
And she saw it then.
The exhaustion. The patience. The fight he’d been swallowing for weeks.
“Soren,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He crossed the room in seconds and kissed her like it would be the la
