Amber lingered at the doorway, half-lit by the flicker. Her face was flushed, her breath shallow. The door behind her creaked shut, sealing them inside the soft gloom.
Aiden turned. The folds of his robe hung loose around his waist, the black fabric clinging to the sweat still cooling on his skin. The faint scent of fresh sex mixed with the musk of exertion, and somewhere beneath it, the faintest trace of iron—the tang of faith and sin mingling like blood and wine.
He met her gaze with the detached calm of a man who had already expected her. "You heard everything," he said quietly.
Amber only nodded. Her eyes fell to the stone floor, to the shadows of her trembling hands. "...I did."
Silence pressed in—thick, as though the air itself weighed upon their tongues. Then she spoke again, softly, as if the words themselves were an intrusion. "I came… with a letter."
