Adrian woke to the faint scent of rain still lingering in the air. The storm had passed, but its presence remained in the damp earth, the rhythmic dripping from the eaves, and the heavy clouds that still clung to the sky. He blinked against the morning light filtering through the small window, his body tense from a restless night.He had barely slept.It wasn’t the storm that had kept him awake—it was her.The way her presence had settled in his mind, refusing to fade. The way she had spoken to him last night, soft but sure. And worst of all, the way she had reached for him, her fingers brushing his own, offering warmth without expectation.And he had let her.Adrian sat up, running a hand through his hair. The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers glowing faintly. Across the room, she was moving about, going through her morning routine with an easy familiarity, as if nothing had changed.But he had changed.He wasn’t sure how, or even when it had happened, but something was s
Adrian sat outside long after the sun had disappeared behind the dense forest. The wind carried the damp scent of earth and pine, and the distant hoot of an owl echoed through the trees. The storm had passed, but the cold air remained, wrapping around him like an unshakable shadow.He should go inside. The warmth of the fire, the comfort of the small cottage—it was all there, just a few steps away. But something kept him rooted to the wooden porch, his thoughts too heavy to let him move.Hearing his name from a stranger’s lips after all these years had felt like a blade pressing against an old wound. He had buried his past so deeply that he had almost convinced himself it no longer existed. But now, it was clawing its way back to the surface, threatening to pull him under.The traveler was gone, but his words lingered."You look familiar… Adrian Laurent?"Adrian clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.He had left that name behind. He had le
The first light of dawn crept through the wooden slats of the cottage, casting golden streaks across the floor. The warmth of the blankets barely clung to Adrian’s skin, but the restlessness in his mind had already won. Sleep had eluded him entirely, leaving him tangled in thoughts he wished he could escape. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wooden walls, his hands clenched into fists. His body was still, but his mind was anything but. The night before had been dangerous. Not in the way of physical threats, but something far worse—vulnerability. She had seen too much of him. And worse, he had let her. Adrian had spent years convincing himself that he didn’t need anyone. That isolation was safer. That trusting someone—letting them in—only ever led to disappointment. But she was different. She didn’t pity him. She didn’t recoil from his scars or his past. She saw him. And that terrified him. A soft rustling sound broke through his thoughts, pulling him back into th
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Sunlight streamed through the trees, casting golden hues over the clearing. The world felt still, undisturbed. For once, Adrian didn’t wake up feeling like an intruder in this peaceful life she had built. He sat on the porch, his back resting against the wooden post, watching as she moved around the small garden. The animals stirred, the soft sounds of their movements filling the air. He should have felt restless, should have wanted to disappear into the forest like he always did when things got too quiet, too comfortable. But today, he didn’t. Instead, he watched her. She was humming, her hands gently brushing over the leaves of the plants, checking them carefully, plucking a few ripe vegetables and placing them in the basket. Her hair was loosely braided today, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. He clenched his jaw and looked away. She was… warm. That was the only way he could describe her. An
The stranger’s words still lingered in the air long after he had disappeared into the horizon. "The lost son of the Lancaster family is still alive." Adrian stood frozen in place, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had spent years outrunning his past, burying it so deep that even he had started to believe it was nothing more than a ghost. But ghosts had a way of returning when least expected. Elara stood beside him, her hand still resting gently on his arm. “Adrian.” Her voice was soft, careful. He inhaled sharply, pulling away. “I need to think.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the trees, disappearing into the thick shadows of the forest. She watched him go, her chest tight with worry. She had seen him battle his demons before. But this time, it was different. This time, his demons had found him first. Adrian’s boots crushed fallen leaves beneath him as he walked deeper into the forest. The further he went, the more the
The weight of the unfinished letter lingered in Adrian Lancaster’s mind long after he had tucked it away. Sleep did not come easy that night. Every time he closed his eyes, memories clawed their way back, relentless and unforgiving.Beside him, the small cottage was silent except for the rhythmic breathing of Elara Whitmore. She had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up beneath a thick blanket, exhausted from the events of the day.Adrian glanced at her peaceful form, a pang of something unfamiliar tightening in his chest. She had been so persistent, so unwavering in her decision to stand by his side.But would she still feel the same once she knew everything?The first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a golden glow over the small cottage. Elara stirred awake, blinking against the soft light.Adrian was already up, standing by the fireplace, staring into the dying embers. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable.She sat up slowly, watching him. “You didn’t sle
Adrian Lancaster stood at the edge of the village, his heart heavy with uncertainty. The morning mist curled around his boots, a quiet reminder of how far he had come—and how far he still had to go. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his body stiff as though bracing for an invisible storm.The letter from his family felt heavier than parchment should. Tucked deep in his pocket, it was a physical weight, a constant presence reminding him of the people who had abandoned him—people who now wanted him back. His entire life had been rewritten by a single, cruel truth: the disease that had spread through his body, warping his once-perfect appearance, had turned him into something unrecognizable. And when he had needed them the most, they had turned their backs on him.But now, they were calling him home.He didn’t know why. He didn’t know if he wanted to find out.Beside him, Elara adjusted the strap of her satchel. The soft rustle of fabric drew his attention, and he glanced at her,
The way ahead of them opened up endlessly, winding between giant trees whose leaves murmured secrets in the wind. The morning was soft, golden rays filtering through the heavy canopy above, leaving shifting patterns on the earth trail below Adrian Lancaster's boots.Tension curled in his chest like a tightly wound spring.The night-before whisper persisted in his thoughts."You could have stayed out of sight, Adrian."He had been noticed. Someone had been watching him.And that meant danger was not far behind.Elara Whitmore walked along beside him, her steps silent, her gaze flicking in his direction every so often. He knew she sensed his tension, but she hadn't pushed him to speak.At least not yet.But still, she was steady. A deep quiet confidence that no matter what ghosts from his own past lay in wait, he wasn't stepping out into them alone.For the first time in years, he wasn't completely by himself.But for how long?The further they walked, the quieter the world became. The
Early sunlight seeped over twigs and formed pools of gold in damp meadow while Elara strapped on the loop of her basket. Batches of dried lavender, soap cut in chamomile-scented blocks, and jars of honey tipped in herbs curled up in between were her initial produce for the village's small spring market. Adrian had encouraged her, and despite being attracted, close-knit tension writhed in her belly, but there was a dizzily whirling one too.Adrian rested his elbow on the fence, one elbow on creaking rusty wooden gate ajar in the arched road to the village square. He was soft-looking in rolled-up sleeves and linen waistcoat, curls on forehead. He would not have ventured out and exposed his face to anyone looking, would not have been there he was struck by sunlight some years back.And then he smiled when he saw her."Ready?" he panted."More or less." She let out a giggling, unstable sort of laugh. "Do you think that people actually will buy something?""They'd be fools otherwise," he t
Sunshine filtered golden from outside, upon Elara's peaceful face. She rolled very slowly under the bedclothes, the smell of wet earth and lavender washing in on the breeze through the open window. Birds sang in the yard, and the remote ringing of hammers was making its way upwards from the rear yard.There came a very small smile slipping on to her lips. Adrian.She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside. The air still had a bite to it, with spring in the air as well. And there he was—shirt cuffs rolled up, hair messy and plastered to his forehead, totally absorbed in the task of constructing the greenhouse. He did not even notice that she was out.She stood at the edge of the garden, arms crossed, watching him for a few moments. His movements had become stronger, more confident. There was a calm determination in the way he measured, lifted, nailed. It was the kind of strength born not from muscle, but from healing.Finally, she called out, “You’re going to wear you
The return trip to the village was in silence, not quiet, but in the peaceful way that it wrapped around you like a blanket. The thud of horse hooves on the earth road, the trill of birds out of sight flying over the cover above, and the wind's howl blowing through the leaves—everything mixed in a soothing symphony, showing the peace they both yearned for so desperately.Elara sat beside Adrian in the carriage, hands loosely locked in his. The city proper was now nothing more than a fantasied dream—the glittering corridors and aching memories enfolding them like a haze. What was left was the fleeting warmth of facing the past and clinging to the future.Adrian had spoken little since walking through the gates. He didn't need to. His silence wasn't choking, not anymore, when he'd walked in fear of being abandoned behind. His silence was more akin to thinking now. Gratitude. Healing.Elara's hold on his hand eased somewhat. "What do you think about?He stood in front of her, the corners
Sunlight streamed through the Lancaster house velvet curtains, golden-filtered, tempering the cold beauty chill that pervaded the atmosphere. Elara awakened first, slowly opening lids as senses grappled with sheer newness—the light linen sheeting over her, the polish and lavender scent, the quiet which wasn't quite that country quiet but was so much more sophisticated.She propped herself up, shifting slowly so she would not wake Adrian. The air was warm, and the room was too clean, far too clean. There was no songbird scratching on a window sill there to be heard; no groan of old wood above. It was lovely—it was irrefutable as that—but it was not home.Other than her, Adrian shifted. His heavy lashes brushed over pale cheeks, and his eyes opening created a moment of disorientation in their depths. She touched him with a light kiss on the temple."You're safe," she whispered.His lips curled into a parched smile. "I know. But somehow it still feels as though I'm dreaming I was trying
The morning air was fresh with the scent of dew and wildflowers that clung to Elara's cloak as she emerged to saddle the old mare. Adrian stood in the doorway, his gaze scanning the horizon where the ridges of the mountains blended into the road that led off far out into the village.Years since he'd been in the city. Years since he'd drawn its air, walked its crowded streets, or spoken aloud the name of his family. But now, the thought of returning didn't make his stomach turn to acid. It made his heart beat faster—but not out of fear.With resolve.Elara shifted, brushing hair from her forehead. "She's ready."Adrian descended, shaking his coat around himself. "You are?"A faint smile quivered on her lips. "Only if you are."They mounted the horse and rode together, side by side, the little cottage they'd, over years, made something more than home. It was home—a haven. Beyond them, the wood became less dense, showing wider paths, open fields, and the muffled rumble of encroaching ci
Morning broke in songbird trill—soft and entrancing, as if the woods themselves sang a living cradle song full of spring. Adrian slowly awakened, caught in the heat of Elara's blankets and the gentle cadence of her breathing against him. The light streamed through the lacy curtains, illuminating golden filigree on wooden walls. He didn't recall falling asleep. Only the stillness of her arms. The weight of her hand upon his heart.He rotated slowly, not wanting to disturb her. Elara was on her side, hair a matted halo around the pillow. Her face was serene, lips parted slightly, a tiny crease between her brows as though dreaming of something difficult.Adrian paused, then leaned in to smooth that crease out with his thumb. Her eyes flew wide at the touch. She blinked once, slowly, and smiled in a small, intimate manner."Morning," she whispered."Hey," he whispered. "You okay?"She nodded, stretching up like a cat. "Mmm. Just. a little sore."Adrian flushed, moving over to the window.
The sun came up in the morning, rising quietly into the cottage, pushing softly between the curtains as a quiet guest. Its warmth brushed softly in gold upon the wood floorboards and rested upon the two forms that were curled up on the couch—Adrian's arm around Elara's shoulder, her head resting lightly upon his chest. The fire had died down by evening, but the heat between them was an unspoken promise that neither of them was yet courageous enough to voice.Adrian went first. He blinked up at the ceiling, stunned at the quiet emptiness in his chest. The familiar pull of fear, of regret, was somehow absent. All that lingered was the soft sound of Elara's breathing, and the faint scent of herbs and old books that clung to her like a second cloak.His arm locked around her a bit involuntarily, and Elara moved, her eyelashes flicking up as she looked up at him."Morning," she answered, voice still husky from sleep."Morning," he answered, his deep voice a bit gritty.They didn't budge.E
The following morning broke with a different radiance that neither Adrian nor Elara expected. The sky, washed bright by the rains of the previous days, burst into a stunning boundless expanse of pure blue. The light poured over fields and rooftops, turning raindrops left on branches into little stars. The forest sparkled like a phoenix.Elara leaned against the railing of her tiny garden, arms crossed over her chest, blowing back behind her on the wind. Adrian stood on the porch, watching as the sun fell over her hair and the rise and fall of her shoulders with each slow breath."Do you ever wonder what comes next?" he burst out suddenly, stepping off onto grass.Elara turned, eyebrows raised a little. "After what,Quiet. This place. Us."The word us fell between them, as gentle as dew. Elara waited before she said anything."I thought there was nothing after that. That this was all. All that was left. And then. now you appeared. And now I do not know. I think that is better."Adrian
The next day dawned dark and quiet, the rain falling to a wispy mist that clung to cottage windows like a shroud. Elara was the first to awaken, waking to a squint through gray light as embers of the fire still flickered in the hearth. She strained to rise from the couch, the frayed blanket slithering down off of her shoulders, and gazed down at Adrian—out cold on the mat at her feet, his hand wedged under his head. She rose and regarded him for a very, very long time.He had slept younger. His angles softer. The peaks of his mourning, that he had worn hard, now softened themselves down to almost gentleness. Eyelashes on his cheekbones made a dark haven, and there was the rumpled tangled clump of black hair in this pillow on which his head lay last night.Elara moved quietly, not to wake him, when she moved quietly into the alcove kitchen and poured water from the kettle. The old stove creaked and spat with a patch of fire flame when Elara lit it. Raindrop and bird sang floated on bra