Damian woke before dawn. The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of pine and dew.
Isabella was still asleep, her hand resting where he had been.
He watched her for a moment, her peace, her softness and a thought struck him: How long can this last before the world finds us again?
He slipped out of bed quietly, pulling on a dark sweater and boots.
The woods outside were shrouded in mist.
Every sound the creak of branches, the crunch of soil seemed louder than usual.
He moved like a shadow, his instincts sharpened by years of violence.
There were faint tracks leading away from the cabin too heavy for an animal, too precise to be random.
He crouched beside one, running his fingers over the indentation.
A faint metallic glint caught his eye, a discarded cigarette butt, still fresh.
Someone's been here.
His jaw clenched.
When he returned, the cabin was warm, the smell of coffee drifting through the air.
