Grace
The morning crept in pale and heavy, shadows stretching long across the snow. Grace stirred awake beside the dying fire, her body stiff from a restless night. Her dreams had been fractured—flashes of teeth, blood, and Kaleb’s golden eyes glowing in the dark. She blinked against the cold light, her breath misting as she sat up slowly.
Kaleb hadn’t moved from his post, seated with his back against the rock, golden eyes half-lidded but never truly at rest. His body was still, but Grace could feel the tension in him, like a bowstring pulled taut. He hadn’t slept. She knew it before she asked.
“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
He didn’t answer, but the faint twitch of his jaw gave her the truth.
Grace wanted to scold him, to beg him to rest, but the memory of the trial pressed too
