The halls of Hale’s Crest were quieter than Holly expected.
Not empty—she could sense movement beneath the stillness, hear distant voices and the muted rhythm of life behind closed doors—but there was a reverence to the morning that wrapped around her like snowfall. Thick stone walls kept the cold at bay, and the scent of woodsmoke lingered faintly in the air, mixing with pine and something earthier she still couldn’t name.
Rowan walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, yet careful not to crowd her. He matched his pace to hers instinctively, slowing when she slowed, waiting when she paused to glance around.
“You don’t have to go far,” he said gently. “If you get tired—”
“I’m okay,” Holly replied, offering a small smile. “I want to see it.”
That earned her a
