The storm came without warning.
By dusk, the air around Frostfang Keep felt heavy enough to break.
Thunder rolled down the mountain and the scent of rain crept through the open doors like a warning.
I stood in the courtyard, the stones slick beneath my boots, my cloak snapping in the wind. Riven's voice still echoed in my head from earlier, that deep, steady tone that had once meant safety and now only stirred panic. I told myself I wasn't waiting for him, that I was only watching the clouds gather, but my pulse said otherwise.
Then Luke's scent reached me cedar and iron. He crossed the yard fast, eyes sharp, shoulders tight. "You didn't tell me they were back you left me for fucking ghosts," he said.
"I didn't know until today that I was staying with them." I muttered.
"Liar." His jaw worked. "He's been near you. I can smell him."
The accusation sliced through the damp air. "You're imagining things, Luke."
"I'm your husband."
