The door creaked open, and the scent of pine and ash swept through with the cold breeze.
Xavier stood in the doorway.
Adrianna's breath caught in her throat.
He looked like a storm barely contained—his golden eyes shadowed with exhaustion, his jaw locked as if he hadn't slept in days. His frame was tense, like he was prepared to lunge at anything that moved. But when he saw her, everything in him paused.
"Adrianna…" he said, barely above a whisper.
She stood up slowly from the wooden bench beside the hearth, arms still wrapped around herself for warmth. Her voice was quiet, controlled. "You're alive."
"I could say the same for you," Xavier replied, stepping inside, his boots heavy on the floorboards. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."
She smiled faintly. "I seem to have a habit of surviving."
His eyes scanned her face, as if searching for pieces of the woman he once knew. "How are you?"
Adrianna's response was simple. "I'm fine."
