Another swipe of her arm, another room that forgot it had ever been full.
Sera didn't stop to admire the trick of it.
One shelf of candles, two crates of blankets, the bin of spare batteries—there, then not there—her suite upstairs accepting each piece without a sound.
Luci trotted at her heel, his nails whispering against the wooden floors, his ears up and working like little satellites that never slept.
The fire in the living room kept its low orange breath.
Lachlan was sprawled on the nearest couch, one arm over his eyes, his mouth open in a soft, ridiculous snore he would deny in the morning.
Elias had folded himself into the armchair across from him, his notes scattered on the rug like fallen leaves, pen still clipped to his fingers as if work might follow him into sleep.
