~Isla~
The wind had started to bite by the time we reached the cottage.
It was late—the moon low and smeared behind thin clouds, like a ghost dragging itself across the sky. My legs were sore from the long walk through the woods, the salt from the haunted shore still clinging to the hem of my coat like dried blood. Raul walked beside me in silence, hands deep in his coat pockets, his eyes fixed ahead. Not once did he complain, not once did he falter—but there was something different about him.
He felt slower.
Heavier.
Dimmer.
We reached the porch. My hands trembled as I unlocked the door. Not from fear this time, but from something colder. A dread I couldn’t name. As soon as we stepped inside, I bolted the door shut and lit the single candle on the table. The familiar scent of rosema
