The wind outside Lena’s cottage howled through the trees, carrying with it the chaotic pulse of the leyline as its energy surged and ebbed, more unstable with each passing moment. But inside the cottage, nestled by the fire, the world seemed quieter, as if the storm of magic and war could not touch the space they had carved out for themselves.
Rylan sat beside her on the couch, his arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her close. His warmth was a steady comfort, his presence a balm for the fear that constantly threatened to creep back into her thoughts. But tonight, the fear seemed distant. There was only him—his heartbeat in sync with hers, the soft sound of his breath, the way his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her skin.
Lena leaned into him, her head resting on his chest
