The sun dipped below the jagged mountain peaks, casting the cabin into a deep, bruised purple. Inside, the only light came from the rhythmic orange pulse of the fireplace. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the fading heat of the woodsmoke.
Jacob sat on the floor, leaning his back against the foot of the bed, a glass of amber liquid in his hand—Grandfather's hidden stash of rye. Sebastian sat a few feet away, his long legs stretched out toward the hearth. The silence was no longer a cage; it was a blanket.
"Tell me something," Sebastian said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency that seemed to vibrate in Jacob's very marrow. "In that pub... before everything fell apart. Did you ever notice me? Or was I just another face in the corner to you?"
