Leah Carter’s Point of View
The rider slowed at the edge of our yard, cloak snapping in the mountain wind, horse steaming with breath. I froze on the porch, my pulse hammering like I already knew what face hid beneath the hood. Emma peeked out from behind my skirts, her rabbit clutched like a shield. Caleb stirred weakly on the couch behind me, his restless groans drifting through the open window.
The man swung down, his boots crunching the frost-bitten dirt. He pulled his hood back, and time folded in on itself.
“Leah,” he said.
The name, my name, cracked from lips I once kissed like scripture. Lips that had also left me bleeding in silence.
“Damien.”
I hated how my voice broke on his name. He hadn’t changed so much I wouldn’t know him. Dark hair, only now streaked faintly with silv
