Opal's POV
The wind had picked up outside, howling softly through the trees beyond the packhouse, but inside their room, it was quiet—too quiet. The fireplace crackled in the corner, casting long shadows across the floor, licking the walls with golden light. The flames danced, but Kael sat still.
Still as stone.
He hadn't spoken in minutes. Just stared into the fire, jaw clenched, arms on his knees, shoulders tight with the weight of something he hadn't been able to let go of for a decade.
Opal sat cross-legged on the bed, her eyes on him—soft, patient, but not passive. She wasn't pressing, but she wasn't letting it go either.
She could feel it—tonight was the night. The past had been haunting him since Malric reappeared, since the crow sighting, since Kael had frozen in silence and fear.
But now?
Now it was time to unearth the rot.
Kael drew in a breath. It was sharp, shaky. Like it caught in his chest on the way down.
