I had been home all day, though “home” now felt heavier than I remembered. Especially since it wasn’t really my home. The packhouse was warm, the fire crackling with a soft glow, but each shadow seemed to stretch longer, reminding me of everything I’d survived—and everything still at stake.
Asher’s family had insisted on a proper dinner. His mother, Petra, had cooked enough food to feed an army, and his father, Dennis, had been fussing over me all afternoon, checking my shoulder, my cuts, and even my hair as if one stray strand could betray my injuries. The twins, Gage and Arlo, never far from my side, darted around the table, giggling, bickering, and occasionally giving me a worried glance.
I sat at the side of the table next to Asher— who lingered really close at all times—feeling a st
