The mountains slept under a shroud of pale mist, their peaks softened by the first light of dawn. The world felt hushed, as if the sky itself was holding its breath.
Yara stood on the cottage porch, shawl drawn around her shoulders, watching ribbons of cloud curl through the pines below. Her hair was loose, brushing her back like silk touched by starlight.
Behind her, the door creaked softly — a familiar sound now — followed by the low hum of warmth that always seemed to enter the room with him.
"You're up early," Val murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.
She turned, smiling faintly. "Couldn't sleep."
He stepped out beside her, bare-chested, the thin morning light tracing the scars that still marked his golden skin — faint now, softened by time and her touch. His breath came in clouds against the cold air.
He stood in silence, looking at her as if memorising the sight of her standing there, wrapped in dawn.
