"We always were. We just had to believe it."
Light from the high eastern windows spilled across the table and the stone floor, warm and bright, touching the edge of Alaric's robe and the curl of steam from our coffee. The morning had the stillness of something sacred. I was not tired. I was filled, and every part of me felt newly tuned, as if the hours we had spent joined in power and purpose had rewired the laws of my own body. The rest I had taken was short, but it had depth. The hum of the Crestwood power in my chest was no longer a strain; it was a steady pulse, a rhythm in time with his. When I drew breath, I could almost hear the echo of Alaric doing the same.
