They ate in near quiet. The stew burned her tongue, but she didn’t slow down. It tasted real — not stale, not rationed.
When night settled, he placed a blanket near the hearth.
“You take the bed,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”
She stiffened. “I don’t want to be touched.”
He nodded once. “I won’t touch what isn’t offered.”
Something inside her — something coiled tight for years — loosened.
That night, for the first time since her mother died, Allora slept without listening for boots on the floor.
Cole sat awake by the fire, staring into flames.
He had paid three coins.
But he hadn’t bought her.
