The storm came like a beast, roaring over the moors. The manor groaned beneath it, like a ship at sea. Lira lit every candle she could find. The wind rattled the windows, and somewhere far below, something howled.
Elias. Drenched, shirt clinging to his chest. His eyes glinted, almost inhuman.
"The forest path washed out. I had to cut through the glen."
"You could catch pneumonia. Come in."
He stayed by the fire, silent, watching the flames. She handed him a blanket and poured tea into a chipped porcelain cup. His hands trembled only slightly.
"You live here, yet you act like a ghost," she said.
He turned to her slowly. "Ghosts don’t bleed."
His gaze held hers for a beat too long.
