Elena’s POV
The clink of cutlery and the soft crackle of the fireplace framed our Sunday evening. The table wasn’t overly formal, Adrian hated that unless guests were present, but it still had his touch: crystal glasses, linen napkins folded just so, roasted chicken carved with surgeon-like precision. Natalie was wedged between us, chattering about her first week back at the dorms.
“I think my roommate thinks I’m boring,” she said, stabbing at her green beans. “She’s already invited me out to three parties. I only went to one and left early.”
“That’s not boring,” I told her, smiling though my eyes weren’t quite on her face. My world these days was shadows and softness, a haze broken by pinpoints of light. I didn’t see her grin the way I used to, but I felt her delight in the tilt of he
