The morning did not release them when they finally rose from the sofa. It followed them instead, stretching itself into every movement, every quiet glance, every breath measured just a little more carefully than before. Violet felt it as she stood, smoothing her clothes, aware that the simple act of straightening her posture carried weight now. Nothing about the space felt neutral anymore.

Bryan moved toward the small kitchenette without a word, the rhythm of his steps unhurried. The lodge seemed to accommodate him easily, as though it recognized the steadiness he brought with him. He filled the kettle, set it on the burner, and turned the flame low. The...