Dawn bled through the compound windows like a bruise healing in reverse, purple to gold to something that might have been hope. The kitchen breathed with the particular silence of a house holding too many secrets, and Alec moved through it like a man underwater, each gesture heavy with seven months of absence.
Coffee grounds scattered across the counter like tea leaves waiting to be read. The machine gurgled its ancient prayer, and he let muscle memory guide him through rituals that belonged to someone he used to be. The Patron who'd commanded this kitchen, this territory, this life—that man had dissolved in ice and dreams, leaving only the shape of him behind.
Jenny materialized from shadow like guilt given form. Golden hair caught the amber light and turned it to flame, bare feet silen
