The shadows stretched long and looming, echoing across the stone walls like old memories she couldn't quite escape. Ana's heart still beat an erratic tempo against her ribs.

She blinked against the dim light, trying to remember which way was up in the haze of sleep. The fire crackled softly, casting a gentle glow—comforting and warm. She pulled the cloak closer against the chill... then stopped. It was Caden wrapped in the cloak, his face slack with deep sleep and his bare chest rising and falling steadily. Her eyes went to her own torso. Her wounds were bound with strips of cloth—a shirt hastily torn, now tied snugly against her skin.

Caden shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible as he adjusted to the cold night air. Ana felt guilt settle over her. The shoddy bandage work spoke of his inexperience, but it was effective enough to stop the bleeding and keep her alive through the night. She admired his stubbornness.

Her breath hung like mist in the chilly air as she shook out her damp clothing, bones and sinew crying out for the warmth of the fading fire. It had burned low, embers winking like sullen stars in a bed of ash.

The storm still raged outside, but its distant roar was a lullaby compared to the din of uncertainty inside her mind. With each passing moment, the intoxicating high of the last few hours receded.

The vision of Ethan, when it came, was sudden and inevitable, as if the very act of losing herself was an invocation. One moment, the room was empty save for her scattered thoughts; the next, he was there, a ghostly form conjured from memory and longing and the reality she didn't want to face. Ana's breath caught in her throat, a strangled sound that hung in the air like disbelief.

His presence was spectral and yet so real, as if he had simply walked back into her life with the easy familiarity of someone who never truly left. She could do nothing but stare, shock and resignation settling over her. How many times had she drowned this exact vision, buried it beneath layers of mordacity and the numbing oblivion of drink?

"Ethan," she whispered, the word a fragile thread in the thick silence. He didn't respond, didn't need to. His being there was answer enough, a confirmation of everything she couldn't quite escape.

Ana tore her gaze from him, unable to bear the calm intensity of his eyes, the way they saw through every defense she tried to erect. She wanted to blame the stress of the day, the storm that still beat its fists against the tower. But she knew the truth. It wasn't the rain that brought him here. It wasn't exhaustion or victory's hollow aftermath.

Caden slept on her torso, curled up under her cloak. His dark hair fell across his face.

Carefully, she dismantled the tangled embrace of fabric and limbs, tucking the cloak around his small frame for warmth. Even in sleep, he seemed to clutch at consciousness. Her expression softened as she watched him bury deeper into the makeshift bed.

Ana's muscles protested as she staggered to her feet. She used the wall to steady herself, the damp stone leeching cold into her blood as she made a stand. Ethan's presence lingered, but she shut it out as best she could, focusing on the mundane tasks of survival.

The fire demanded fuel if it was to keep them warm through the night. Ana moved through the crumbling room, searching for anything that would burn. Her breath came in shallow gasps against the rawness in her throat. The wound at her side tugged painfully with each movement.

All of it summoned him, and in this quiet, fire-lit chamber, Ana couldn't look away any longer.

The silence between them was oppressive, full of the things she couldn't say and the things she knew he wouldn't. Guilt and anger wrestling with fear and regret.

"Why now?" she finally managed, her voice thin and brittle. "Why here?" But the words rang hollow even as she spoke them. Ana knew the answer before they left her lips. It had always been a matter of time. She could only hide for so long before the past demanded its due.

Ethan's form remained steady. He was calm, expectant, and his very silence accused her of nothing yet held her accountable for everything.

She could blame exhaustion, claim the storm had battered her. But the spectre of that lie was more terrifying than the reality standing before her. Ana realized, with a clarity that struck like cold water, that she couldn't continue this way.

Not if she wanted to survive the next fight, the next storm, the next moment that demanded more of her than she could give.

Suddenly, she made her decision.

"I can't keep doing this," she whispered.

The fire's light softened Ethan's edges.

Ana watched the ghost of him flicker in the dim light, and for the first time, she didn't feel the need to chase it away.