The packhouse was quiet, only the soft sounds of the night drifting through the windows—the rustle of leaves, the call of an owl, the faint hum of the forest. Asher’s room felt warmer, like it had been waiting for us, the shadows pooling in the corners, making the space feel private, like no one else existed.
Asher sat on the edge of his bed when I stepped in. He didn’t speak at first, just looked at me with that steady gaze that made my chest beat faster. Even after everything, I still felt a pull I couldn’t name, a need that didn’t care about words.
“You’re here,” he said finally, his voice low and rough but soft at the edges. My stomach twisted, and I stepped closer. I needed to be near him, even if it was just like this.
Our fingers brushed, a spark at the contact, sharp and warm. H
