Grace
Monday morning crept into Longtooth with heavy snowflakes drifting lazily from the pale February sky. After the unease of Sunday, the lodge seemed to settle back into its routine, as though nothing strange had happened at all. The dining room carried its usual blend of clattering plates, steaming mugs, and casual conversation. Regulars filled their familiar spots—except Jess and Connor, who were noticeably absent.
Grace moved quietly into the room, her gaze drifting toward the counter where Arthur sat, doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t watching Natasha fuss with the coffee machine. She slid onto the stool beside him. Without looking away from Natasha, Arthur reached out, gave her shoulder a brief squeeze, and murmured, “Morning.”
“Morning, Arthur,” she returned softly.
