The silver glow of the moon filtered through the tall windows of the pack house, casting long shadows over the polished wooden floor. Ava sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her pale-blue dress. She stared at the roaring fire in the hearth, the flickering flames mirroring the turmoil in her chest. Ever since Elenor had left with Damien, Lesley had grown distant. The once vibrant, playful man she had fallen for seemed to retreat into himself, leaving her feeling like a ghost in his life.
The door creaked open, and Lesley entered. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. He paused when he saw her sitting there, her frame small and seemingly tense.
“Ava,” he greeted, his voice measured, almost indifferent.
She stood, her hands clenched a
