Eluna’s P.O.V.
The air inside the old house still smelled like rosemary and lemon polish. Time hadn’t washed the walls clean of memory, hadn’t dulled the sharp, splintering echo of grief that haunted the front door. The same door the police had knocked on years ago, two solemn taps that had shattered her world.
I stood frozen, my hand still on the kitchen counter beside me, the floor groaning faintly under our weight. Jackson was here. With me. And it looked as if he wasn’t letting go. His arms were a warmth I hadn’t known I needed, and yet, now that I was in them, I wasn’t sure how I’d ever existed without them. His heartbeat was steady against my cheek, grounding, like the slow rhythm of something ancient and sure. I could smell cedar and worn leather on his jacket, something real, som
