The room was quiet in a way Lila wasn’t used to.
Not the tense quiet of hiding.
Not the sharp, listening silence that came before violence.
This quiet felt… soft.
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting amber light across stone walls and heavy wooden beams. Mira sat cross-legged on the floor near the warmth, her back against the couch, fingers absently tracing the pattern in the rug beneath her palm.
Lila stood by the window.
Snow fell steadily outside, thick flakes blurring the forest beyond the glass. The land here felt different—watched, yes, but not hunted. Protected in a way that made Lila’s shoulders ache with the unfamiliar effort of letting go.
“They really mean it,” Mira said softly.
Lila didn’t turn. “Mean what?”
“That we’re allowed to stay.”
Allowed.
The word tas
