The fire crackled, its glow flickering across the wooden beams of the small cottage. Outside, the village of Oakhaven lay wrapped in silence, save for the distant howl of the wind rolling over the valley.

Elias leaned back in his chair, watching as Elara moved about the kitchen, the scent of rosemary and roasted venison curling through the air. He had always loved watching her work—there was a quiet grace in the way she moved, in the way she hummed softly under her breath as if the world outside their little home did not exist.

A rare moment of peace.

A peace Elias never truly trusted.

“Your mind is elsewhere.”

Elara’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She stood near the hearth, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her hands resting on the gentle swell of her belly.

Elias exhaled through his nose, rubbing at the scar that ran along his jawline. “I’m thinking about the past.”

Her smile faded slightly. “Ours?”

He shook his head. “Mine.”

A shadow passed over her face, but she said nothing. She rarely did when he spoke of his past life—of war, of blood, of the things he had done before she had softened him.

Instead, she placed a bowl in front of him and sat across from him, her gaze steady. “And what does it tell you tonight?”

Elias looked down at his hands, tracing the old callouses with his thumb. “That peace is fragile.”

Elara’s expression turned unreadable. She reached for him, her fingers threading through his. “Then we should hold on to it while we can.”

The words sat heavy between them.

Somewhere deep inside him, Elias knew—this moment would not last.

And outside, in the dark, death was already moving toward them.