“What.”
“Listen.”
He listened. Wind. Rain. The crackle of fire.
But underneath it all, there was something else. A kind of… presence. Not spooky. Not magical. Just the sense that the cabin, the mountain, the dark woods outside, were acknowledging them.
Walter swallowed.
“It feels…” he started.
“Like we’re not alone,” Eleanor finished.
Walter squeezed her hand.
“Not alone,” he agreed, though his voice was rough.
They slept in fragments, waking to drips and gusts, but each time Walter opened his eyes and saw Eleanor beside him, he felt something he hadn’t felt in years.
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