Morning stole in upon the coast like a breath, soft light touching the mist still rolled around the edges of the inn eaves. Ethan awoke not to the sounds of automobiles nor his regular morning alarms, but to bird song and to salt and pine on the wind. It was strange. It was not earned.
He lay in bed a long enough time, staring up at the ceiling, before finally swinging his legs over the side. His palms against his face, lying at his temples, then edged down to the envelope still clutched in his coat pocket. He did not open it. He did not throw it away either.
A tap on his door.
Soft. Thoughtful.
He opened it without checking through the peephole. It was her.
Zaria was standing in bare feet, holding a tray with two coffee mugs, one black and one with cream. She wore an oversized cream
