Morning arrived quietly, without urgency or spectacle. The light slid through the tall windows in pale ribbons, touching the wooden floor and climbing the walls with deliberate patience. The fire had burned down to embers, leaving behind a warmth that lingered in the air, steady and grounding. Violet felt it the moment she stirred, as though the room itself had waited for her to wake.

She remained still for a moment, listening to the lodge breathe. The night had not loosened its grip; it had simply shifted its shape. The tension they had built had not dissolved with sleep. It had settled, deeper now, coiled beneath the surface of her...