"My dear Elora," Sylas said, a faint smile touching his lips as he took in my dusty appearance. "You look as though you've wrestled a particularly stubborn badger. Come, sit. I’ve just poured some rather excellent wine, and I imagine you could use something… restorative."
I collapsed onto the plush sofa between them, a contented sigh escaping my lips. The warmth of the fire, their comforting presence, and the promise of a quiet evening felt like a luxurious reward. After a few sips of the rich, dark wine—which, with the distinct pallet I now shared with Vernon and Sylas through the bond, I could now truly savor—I felt a spark of creative energy return. I reached for a discarded parchment and a charcoal stick from the nearby writing desk.
"I was thinking about the stained glass," I murmur
