The attic stairs announced him the way they always did, each board offering its own opinion on his weight. Noah took them slowly anyway, one hand on the rail, the other trailing the wall for balance in the dark.
Without electricity, the space had changed character. What the afternoon had painted gold now came through the skylight in thin washes of silver, moonlight pooling on the shag and climbing the edge of the mattress. The balcony doors were pale rectangles. Everything else was suggestion.
Sage hadn't moved.
The gray knit rose and fell over her shoulder, steady as a tide. She'd shifted just enough that the water glass on the nightstand caught a sliver of light beside her head, untouched. One foot had slipped out from under the blanket, freckled and pale against the dark quilt, toes curled slightly against the cool air.
