The dawn did not break so much as it bled gently into the room, a soft infusion of pale, geometric light filtering through the high-arched casements. It spilled across the chamber's minimalist stone walls, washing the cold, ancient architecture in a warm, liquid amber hue. For the first time in a long, agonizing week, the shadows seemed to retreat.
Yvonne had managed to sit upright entirely on her own, without the gentle assistance she had had to rely on for the past week. The haunting, translucent gray that had stolen the vitality from her skin during the darkest hours of her fever had finally receded. In its place was a delicate, petal-soft flush at the edges of her cheeks—a quiet sign that the lifeblood was flowing through her veins with its usual, effortless grace. The dull, unfocused gaze that had broken Matt's heart for days was gone, replaced by a striking, lucid intensity.
