The storm had passed, but its echo still clung to the glass. Mist draped the valley in pale veils, and the world outside The Hut looked suspended—uncertain, unfinished. Alias stood by the hearth, hands deep in his pockets, staring into the orange core of the fire. Ava curled on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, watching him with the stillness of someone listening not just to words, but to the weight behind them. He hadn’t spoken in minutes. Just paced, brooded, pulled threads of thought fr...
