The moonlight spilled lazily across the corridor as Lyra sat on the steps leading to the back gardens of the packhouse, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The air was cold but quiet, still humming with the tension that war always left behind. Most were asleep or resting after the long, brutal weeks. She didn’t hear Xander until he sat down beside her with a bottle of something dark in one hand and an apple in the other.
“You always come out here after dark?” he asked, biting into the apple with a casual crunch.
She glanced sideways at him and offered a small smile. “Not always. Just… tonight felt heavy.”
Xander nodded, looking ahead toward the forest as he chewed, his profile sharp in the pale light. He wasn’t like Kyson or Xander. There was something wilder in the way he carried him
