“It truly is.”
I shake my head, laughing softly despite myself. But the warmth spreading through the bond tells me he means every word.
A home. Not a place to hide. A place to begin again. I lace my fingers through his.
“Then let’s find it,” I say quietly.
30
THREXIAN
Ihave stood on this ridge long enough to learn the rhythm of the lake below.
The water changes color with the seasons now in ways I never noticed when we first arrived, deep blue in winter, bright green in spring, and glassy silver in the quiet mornings of late summer like this one.
Two years is a short span of time for a demon who has lived centuries, yet the life Elowen and I have built here has settled into something so natural that it feels as though this place has always belonged to us.
Mist rises slowly from the water as the first light of dawn spreads across the hills, turning the surface of the lake into shifting shades of silver and pale gold. The ridge where our house stands overlooks the entire valley, the view stretching far enough that on clear days the distant mountains appear like soft blue shadows resting against the horizon.
I have learned the shape of this morning view well enough now that I can predict when the mist will lift and when the first birds will cross the water. It is a quiet kind of knowledge, the sort that would have seemed pointless once, yet it has slowly becomeone of the small rituals that mark the life Elowen and I built here.
Behind me, the door of the small house creaks open.
“Elowen,” I call without turning.
Her voice answers immediately.
“I know you can feel me through the bond. You don’t have to pretend you’re guessing.”
“That removes all mystery from the moment.”
“You’re a demon standing on a porch at sunrise admiring a lake.”
Her footsteps approach.
“I think mystery stopped being part of your reputation a while ago.”
I turn toward her as she steps outside. Elowen carries a basket of freshly washed laundry balanced against her hip, her dark hair tied loosely behind her neck in a way that suggests she did it quickly while half distracted by something else.
Which usually means she is already thinking about three different things at once.
She stops beside me and follows my gaze toward the lake.
“Still staring at the view?” she asks.
“It continues to exist.”
“That’s usually how landscapes work.”
The teasing warmth in her voice spreads through the bond like sunlight touching water.
Two years. Two years since we walked away from Briarthorn with nothing but uncertainty and stubborn determination. Two years since the night infernal fire nearly destroyed everything. And yet standing here now, the memory feels distant. Not erased. Simply… resolved.
Elowen sets the basket down near the railing.
“I need help with this,” she says.
The statement is suspicious.
