A tapestry of scent, woven from pine needles and warming soil, hung heavy in the still morning air. Rowan shivered, drawing her oversized sweater tight over her narrow frame. She settled deeper into the rocking chair that sat on a comically oversized wrap-around porch. Even as a child, Rowan had recognized the absurdity of it, the way it practically swallowed the modest farmhouse whole. But Grandma had wanted a sprawling veranda grand enough for a Victorian mansion, a place to sit and shell peas in the cool of the evening. And grandpa, ever loving, and ever indulgent, built it for her.
Dawn painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange, but the vibrant colors seemed muted somehow. An old cherry tree stood sentinel in front of the house. Rowan's mind wandered to childhood summers spent here: the endless days of picking cherries, staining her fingers crimson; the sticky sweetness of her grandmother's homemade pies, the comforting routine of farm life. Grandpa would usually be out by the barn already, whistling along to the radio, a jaunty tune carrying across the fields.
Her mother never accompanied her on those trips, and the reason for her absence was a topic that was never discussed. Perhaps it was because everyone knew the reason and discussing it was considered in bad taste. Rowan never asked, and no one offered an explanation.
Rowan hadn't minded, not really. She savored that time with her grandma, the quiet intimacy of their shared routine. They would rise with the sun and make their way to the henhouse to gather eggs. She loved how the eggs felt against her palm as she gathered them into her apron - smooth, fragile, warm, a stark contrast to the cool morning air. Back on the expansive porch, they'd enjoy breakfast together: toast slathered with homemade jam and steaming mugs of tea warming their hands, the clinking of spoons against china a gentle counterpoint to the distant birdsong.
Afterwards, they might wander down to the pond, tossing breadcrumbs to the eager fish, or venture into the old barn to peek at the newest litter of barn cats. They would be nearly invisible, swallowed by the mountain of hay, tiny paws tucked beneath their chins as they slept soundly, unaware of the morning commotion.
The rocking chair creaked, its familiar rhythm jolting her back into a present that felt strangely askew. Rowan breathed out a sigh and stood to her feet. Even the air felt different now, heavier somehow. She turned towards the old screen door, its hinges groaning in protest as she began to push against it.
"Hey!" She heard a deep male voice call out from a distance, cutting through the quiet morning air.
Rowan turned in the direction of the voice. A few yards away, a young man with dark tousled hair walked briskly up the drive. He looked familiar, but it was taking her longer than she liked to place his face. He moved with an easy confidence that suggested he belonged here, yet his presence felt unexpected. Sensing her confusion, the man slowed pace and smiled softly.
"Sorry, maybe you don't remember me. Ellery, Ellery Thorne."
Rowan's brow furrowed. Ellery Thorne. The name danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't quite place it. There was an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw accompanied by a self-deprecating glint that sparked in his eyes as he waited for her to speak.
"My parents live just down the road. Well, lived," he corrected himself, a shadow flitting across his expression. "I live there now, I guess."
The tension in her brow eased as recognition dawned. She recalled a boy with dark unruly hair that had lived nearby when it was just their two families on that isolated stretch. Since then, a few others had come to live on their short, unpaved road.
He'd grown into quite a handsome man, taller and broader. His dark hair, still quite unruly, now framed a face that had lost its boyish roundness, the strong, defined features softened by warm, genuine green eyes. The worn flannel shirt and faded jeans belied the strength in his shoulders and chest, the kind born from hard work and long days spent outdoors.
"Ellery," she said, her voice a little shaky. "It's been a while."
Ellery's smile widened, a hint of relief in his eyes. "Yeah, it has," he agreed. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me at all," he confessed, shifting his weight slightly.
"Of course I remember," Rowan replied, a smile touching her lips. "We were practically inseparable that one summer your parents left you with my grandparents. Where did they go again?"
"It was some sort of retreat. I honestly don't remember anymore," he admitted, " I do remember finding that owl with the broken wing that summer."
A soft smile touched Rowan's lips; her eyes distant as if she were reliving the memory. "Orion," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ellery frowned slightly, the name unfamiliar. "Orion?"
Rowan's smile widened. "We named it Orion," she explained, her gaze meeting his.
The confusion on Ellery's face melted into recognition, a slow smile spreading across his features. "Orion," he repeated, the memory flooding back. "Of course. How could I forget?"
His smile faded as his gaze drifted past Rowan, sweeping over the familiar landscape of the farm. "Your grandfather wanted me to check in on the farm. Well, on you. If you need any help, you know, with anything... I'm familiar with this place. I was helping him out before they left, mostly with the horses."
Rowan's fingers twisted in the frayed hem of her sweatshirt; a nervous habit she thought she'd outgrown. The horses. Her grandpa had kept them for her even though she rarely visited anymore. It was holidays, mostly, or the occasional long weekend when homesickness gnawed at her. A phone call, a hastily packed bag, and she'd be here, breathing in the familiar scent of hay and honeysuckle, the ache in her chest easing with every familiar scent and sound. But it was a temporary fix. A few days, maybe a week, and then she'd be gone again, the city would always beckon her back before long. Guilt pricked at her as she offered Ellery a tight smile.
Rowan's gaze flickering towards the weathered barn in the distance. "I... I could use the help," she admitted, her voice faltering.
"Of course," he replied, his eyes following her gaze. An uncomfortable silence settled between them, filled with the rustle of leaves. Rowan traced a crack in the porch's worn floorboards with the toe of her shoe.
"How are your folks doing, by the way?" she asked, hoping to break the tension.
Ellery's easy smile faltered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "They... they passed away," he said, his voice tight. "Recently. A car accident, on their way home from..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Ellery, I'm so sorry," Rowan interrupted.
Ellery pressed his lips together slightly. He stared intently at her for a moment, as if searching her face for something before smiling sadly. "It's okay," he said in a tone just above a whisper. In a tone that said that it was anything but okay. "It's...it's been tough."
The weight of his words hung in the air, a palpable presence between them. Rowan felt a cool breeze against her face as she inhaled deeply, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath. Ellery looked away for a moment, his jaw clenched, before meeting her eyes again. He gave a shaky sigh.
"I should go," Ellery said, his voice rough. "I'll let you get back to your morning. I'll stop by tomorrow to see what you need help with."
Rowan offered him a warm, genuine smile. "Thank you, Ellery. It means a lot," she replied, her voice soft and sincere.
-
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the farm, Rowan found herself drawn back to the porch. The sky blazed with deep orange and vibrant pink as she sank into the wooden chair once again, her body aching from the day's exertions - unfamiliar muscles protesting the unaccustomed work of stacking firewood and mucking out stalls. A cool evening breeze swept through the trees, carrying the scent of mud and hay. The porch creaked softly as she slid back in her seat gazing over the landscape. The horses in the stable nickered softly, their silhouettes barely visible in the growing darkness. A familiar tightness settled in Rowan's chest. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, attempting to invoke a remnant of nostalgia, a feeling that seemed to elude her. Perhaps it was the yearning for the childhood she left here each time she returned to the city. But everything felt different now, she thought, her mind turning to her grandparents. Miles away, in a sterile hospital room, her grandmother lay in bed, her grandfather dozing fitfully in a nearby chair, clinging to the precious remaining hours of visiting time.
A sudden rustling sound pierced the stillness, interrupting her thought. Rowan's eyes flew open, and her heart hammered against her ribcage. She scanned the shadows, her gaze darting from the swaying branches to the darkened corners of the porch. Still adjusting to the dim light, she struggled to make sense of the shapes and movements around her. A sleek figure emerged from the darkness, moving with the stealthy grace of a seasoned hunter. It paused at the edge of the porch, its form a black silhouette against the night.
One of the barn cats.
Its fur was black, like the night, and barely visible in dim moonlight. As it padded closer, tension drained from her shoulders, and she unconsciously softened her posture. Bending down, she extended her hand, and the cat brushed against her fingers, a soft purr rumbling in its chest. Its pale blue eyes, bright even in the dim light, gazed up at her inquisitively.
"Hello there" Rowan purred back, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. With a practiced movement, she scooped the cat into her arms, its weight a comforting presence against her. The cat smelled of hay and dust and something wild, something that spoke of the woods and the night. "Did you come to keep me company?" she asked softly, burying her face in its soft fur.
The cat purred louder, nuzzling against her cheek. A warmth spread through her, chasing away some of the chill that had settled around her heart. Rising from the chair, she decided to head inside for a nightcap, the cat nestled securely in her arms.
Inside the house, the air was sweet with the faint scent of lavender and old wood. Rowan set the cat down near the cold hearth and struck a match, the sulfurous scent momentarily stinging her nostrils. She tossed the match into the kindling nestled beneath larger pieces of birch, watching as the flames caught and licked at the wood with growing enthusiasm. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks dancing up the chimney. The warm glow cast long shadows that danced across the room, a silent symphony conducted by the firelight.
Rowan sauntered to the kitchen, her bare feet moving softly on the worn floorboards. She retrieved a decanter of amber liquid and a small glass from the old oak cabinet. After tossing a few ice cubes into the glass, she tilted the bottle, the amber liquid awakening the ice with a chorus of clinks and pops: the chattering against the glass a crystalline counterpoint to the crackling fire. She made her way to a worn armchair by the hearth, sinking into its familiar embrace she barely registered the creak of the leather. The cat curled up on the rug, a black inkblot against the faded cloth.
Rowan sipped her drink, the whiskey burning a fiery trail down her throat and deep into her stomach. Her thoughts drifted once more, to her grandparents, to Ellery, to her mother. She took a slightly longer drink and savored the burn, letting her mind wander before closing her eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling her into a deep sleep.
-
Rowan awoke with a jolt to the sound of thunder cracking like a whip in the distance. The room was dark, the once vibrant fire reduced to a faint glow of embers. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows and sending leaves skittering across the porch.
A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the room in a stark white light. The cat hissed and darted under the couch. Rowan, heart pounding in her chest, rose and moved to the window, peering out into the tempest. The trees thrashed violently, their branches clawing at the house. Rain fell hard against the glass, driven by the fierce wind.
Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. Rowan's heart leapt into her throat as the sound reverberated through the house. The impact shook its very foundations, sending dust and debris raining down from the ceiling. Rainwater poured in, cascading around her like a waterfall. For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. She looked up to see a jagged opening in the ceiling, a thick branch thrusting through the splintered wood. The wind whipped through the house, scattering the cold ashes from the hearth and sending them swirling through the air.
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The cat, its eyes wide with fear, emerged from its hiding place. Rowan scooped it up, clutching it close as she moved away from the window, her bare feet slipping against the smooth wooden floor as it filled with water. The house creaked and shuddered. Panic clawed at her throat. She forced it down, her gaze darting across the room, searching for a place of refuge. She spotted the small closet under the stairs.
Clutching the cat, Rowan scrambled towards the closet, squeezing inside and pulling the door shut with a desperate thud. The latch clicked shut, sealing her in the darkness. The small space pressed in on her, filled with the musty scent of mothballs. Cobwebs brushed her cheeks as she sank onto the cold, hard floor, the cat a trembling weight in her lap. The wind howled, and the rain lashed against the walls, each gust and torrent a hammer blow against the fragile house. Each gust of wind and peal of thunder made her flinch and burrow deeper into the hanging clothes behind her, her body tensing in expectation of some unseen impact. The floorboards groaned beneath her, the clothes swayed, making her feel as if the whole world were also tilting and swaying. She curled herself further around the cat. The minutes stretched into hours as she fought to stay awake, her mind a whirlwind of anxieties, but exhaustion eventually wore her down.
She drifted in and out of a restless sleep, haunted by fragmented dreams alternating between brief moments of languid wakefulness. She dreamt of shadowy figures, their whispers echoing the wind's howl. Each time she blinked awake, the shadows lingered, bleeding into the darkness before morphing back into hanging clothing as her brain struggled to put reality back together again.
-
Pale light seeped through the cracks in the closet door, painting a thin line across Rowan's face. She blinked awake, fighting the remnants of sleep that clung to her eyelids. It was quiet; morning had arrived. The silence was almost deafening after the cacophony of the storm. The small black cat still lay in her arms, fast asleep, its soft fur warm against her skin, its purring a gentle vibration against her chest, a comforting rhythm in the stillness.
A knocking echoed from somewhere beyond the closet walls, breaking that stillness. Disoriented, Rowan glanced around the cramped space.
Where...?
Carefully shifting the sleeping cat, her body protesting the night spent folded in the cramped darkness, Rowan stood with stiff, aching muscles. Pushing open the door, she stepped out into the room and was greeted with cool, damp air, and the aroma of rain-soaked wood.
The knocking grew more insistent, a steady beat that mirrored the pounding in her chest. Rowan crossed the room, her bare feet stepping over debris scattered across the floor. Hesitantly, she opened the front door. Ellery stood framed in the doorway; his deep green eyes etched with concern. For a fleeting moment, his presence calmed her, but then her gaze shifted past him. The barn was a mangled wreck, trees lay uprooted, including her grandmother's beloved cherry tree-a landmark of her childhood now reduced to splinters.
"Rowan, are you alright?" Ellery's voice was sharp with worry. "I saw the damage..."
She managed a shaky nod. "I'm okay. Just...shaken."
Ellery stepped inside, his boots crunching on shattered glass and splintered wood. He surveyed the gaping hole in the roof, where water still dripped steadily onto the ruined floor.
"I can't believe it," Rowan whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "I've never seen anything like this."
Ellery turned, his eyes darkened as he scanned the wreckage, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He looked as though he'd stepped out of the storm itself. "That," he said quietly, "isn't the strangest part."
-
Rowan stood at the end of the driveway, out by the old dirt road. Across the road, farms stretched into the distance, untouched by the storm. The morning sun cast a golden hue over the fields. Not a single broken branch, not a single fallen tree. Just the gentle sway of wheat fields in the morning breeze. It was as if the storm had deliberately targeted her farm, leaving everything else untouched.
"Your farm is the only one that seems to have any damage," Ellery said, his voice hushed, more to himself than to Rowan.
Rowan's hands trembled. "I don't understand," she whispered. "How is that even possible? The trees... they look like they were ripped from the ground."
Ellery frowned; his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense." He ran a hand through his damp hair. Silence fell between them, punctuated by the distant sound of songbirds, oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded.
He turned to Rowan. "You can't stay here tonight," he said, his voice firm. "It's not safe."
She hadn't expected such genuine concern from him. A moment ago, his green eyes had been cold and assessing, cataloging the destruction with an almost clinical detachment. Now they held a depth of emotion that caught her off guard. His posture softened, and a flicker of something vulnerable crossed his features. His sudden shift in demeanor surprised her.
"Where else would I go? I promised to look after the farm."
Ellery hesitated, shifting his weight uncomfortably and running a hand through his dark hair that was more disheveled than usual. "You can stay at my place," he offered, his voice softening.
A heavy silence fell, punctuated only by the faintest hint of woodsmoke drifting on the damp air. Ellery's place... A hazy image of the small house with a green roof and rambling rose bushes flickered in her mind. The thought emerged, unexpected yet it carried with it a strange sense of familiarity. She glanced back at the ruined farmhouse, its broken silhouette.
"I don't know," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Ellery stepped closer, and the scent of woodsmoke grew stronger. It was a comforting aroma, grounding. He didn't need to voice the reassurance; it was in his eyes, in the gentle tilt of his head, in the way his gaze held hers without faltering.
"You wouldn't be imposing," he said gently. "I want to help." His words were a balm to her anxieties, a quiet affirmation of the support she hadn't realized she craved.
"Okay," she finally agreed, her voice steady.
Ellery nodded, relief washing over his features. "Let's get your things," he said, turning towards the house.
-
Rowan moved through the damp stillness of the house, gathering a few essentials: a toothbrush, a change of clothes. Her fingers traced the faded edges of a photograph on the dresser, the image of a ghost of her eight-year-old self, grinning gap-toothed at the camera, flanked by her mother and grandparents, their smiles frozen in time. She quickly tucked it into her bag.
Don't think about it, she told herself, pushing down the wave of sadness that threatened to engulf her.
Ellery waited patiently by the door, his gaze following her slender silhouette as it moved against the morning light that filtered into the house. When she finally turned to him, her eyes were red-rimmed but resolute. Rowan followed Ellery across the threshold, trepidation and hope mingling as the cool morning air washed over her.
The walk to Ellery's house was short, but the silence between them stretched out, each footfall a heavy thud against the damp ground. Rowan inhaled the morning air, pine needles and damp leaves filling her lungs. The small dirt path wound through a cathedral of towering pines. Their branches interlaced overhead, weaving a tapestry of light and shadow. As if emerging from a dream, Ellery's house came into view: a small dwelling with a cheerful green roof and rambling rose bushes that spilled over the porch railing, their fragrant blossoms scenting the air. A weathered porch swing swayed gently in the breeze. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney, a wisp of memory curling in her mind.
They climbed the porch stairs, weathered wood groaning softly beneath their weight. Ellery opened the door and gestured for Rowan to enter. Inside the air was warm, carrying a faint, scent of leather and woodsmoke. He led her through the living room, now bathed in the soft glow of daybreak, then down a narrow hallway and up a set of moaning stairs.
"This is the spare bedroom," Ellery said, opening a door to reveal a small, inviting room with a slanted ceiling and a window overlooking the woods. Light streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The bed was neatly made with a patchwork quilt, and a worn wooden dresser stood against one wall.
"Thank you, Ellery," Rowan said, her voice subdued. Stepping into the room and setting her backpack down, Rowan noticed Ellery lingering in the doorway, his gaze intense and unreadable. There was a new tension in his posture. She couldn't quite decipher the emotions in his eyes, but the intensity made her feel exposed, vulnerable. Rowan shifted uneasily.
"I'll let you get settled," he said finally.
Rowan nodded, offering him a small, grateful smile. As he left, she turned her attention to unpacking, the simple act of arranging her few belongings in the unfamiliar dresser unnerved her a little. A wave of grief, unexpected and sharp, washed over her, and she sank onto the bed, the patchwork quilt a soft comfort against her cheek.
-
When she finally emerged from the bedroom, hours later, the scent of a savory stew, rich with herbs and spices, drew her down the stairs, her hand trailing along the rough-hewn banister of the uneven, old staircase. The aroma led her to the kitchen, where Ellery was busy at the stove, his back to her. He was a puzzle of familiar gestures and unfamiliar nuances, him, yet not him. The boy she once knew surfaced in his movements, now a man she barely recognized.
The air was filled with the comforting yet complex aroma of simmering vegetables, sweet spice as well as something darker and umami. Rowan took a seat at the small kitchen table, its worn surface smooth beneath her fingertips. The kitchen, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, was a haven of domesticity, with its mismatched chairs, shelves lined with jars of preserves, and dried herbs that hung in bunches from the ceiling. Ellery turned, a wooden spoon in hand, and smiled. "Hungry?"
Rowan returned the smile, a genuine warmth spreading through her. "It smells amazing."
He set two steaming bowls on the table - a hearty stew filled with pieces of tender beef, potatoes, carrots, and aromatics simmered in a rich broth with the lingering scent of cinnamon and star anise. As they ate, Rowan couldn't help but steal glances at Ellery, each one a silent exploration of his features. His face was a study in contrast - rugged yet refined, with a strong jawline and high cheekbones that caught the light. At his temples, deep brown hair curled slightly, just brushing the collar of his worn flannel shirt. But it was his eyes that held her attention - a brilliant green that reminded her of a still tide pool, flecks of gold dancing in their depths. She had the distinct impression that he was aware of her examination, a silent acknowledgment hanging in the air between them.
"My grandmother's recipe," he said, his voice a low rumble that broke through her thoughts. He paused, his gaze meeting hers. "She always said it was the perfect cure for a stormy night."
Rowan quickly averted her eyes, a warmth creeping up her neck. She lowered her gaze, her hand hovering over her water glass before taking a hasty sip, hoping to cool the sudden flush in her cheeks, hoping he wouldn't notice the tremor in her fingers. Ellery leaned back in his chair, a slow smile forming as a quiet satisfaction settled over him.
"It's really good," she managed, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. She did not look up again for the rest of the meal.
After dinner, Rowan helped Ellery clean, their movements surprisingly synchronized in the small space. When the kitchen was tidy, Ellery leaned against the counter, observing her with a thoughtful expression.
"If you need anything, my room is just down the hall," he said, his voice low. "Don't hesitate to knock."
Their eyes met, and the warmth in his gaze surprised her. In that extended moment, a silent conversation unfolded, a recognition of a bond that still existed between them, a shared history that they were both surprised to find time had not erased. The intensity of the connection, unexpected and undeniable, startled them both, and they quickly looked away.
Rowan hesitated, her fingers twisting in the frayed hem of her sweatshirt. "Thank you, Ellery." The vulnerability in her own voice caught her off guard, a raw edge she hadn't meant to expose.
She turned and ascended the stairs.
-
Rowan woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through faded floral curtains. The air was still heavy with the gentle hum of the house. Outside, birds chirped in the distance, their songs faint but persistent. A faint scent of greenery wafted in from an open window. Memories of the previous day surfaced slowly: the storm, the damage, the encounter with Ellery. Each one brought a fresh wave of anxiety, tightening her chest. She pushed the feeling aside, swung her legs out of bed, and stood. The cool wood floor bit at her feet, a sharp reminder of the warmth she'd left behind. The floorboards creaked softly as she crossed the room to the antique mirror on the wall. Her reflection stared back at her - pale and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Quickly pulling on jeans and an oversized sweater, she headed to the kitchen.
Ellery was already up, standing by the stove with a cup of coffee in hand. He turned as she entered, a warm smile softening his features. "Good morning," he said, his voice low and gentle.
"Morning," Rowan muttered, her voice husky and slow with sleep. She reached for a giant mug that resembled a small bowl and poured herself coffee. She brought the steaming brew to her lips as she peered out the window at a small garden in the side yard. It looked reasonably well-kept.
"Do you live alone?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
The question hung in the air, startling both. Ellery met her gaze, his eyes a striking emerald green, or how Rowan, who had never actually seen an emerald, imagined they looked anyway.
Ellery paused, his gaze steady on hers. "I do," he finally answered with amusement in his voice. "And you?"
"I... do," she stammered, voice laced with hesitation. Ellery's smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. He knew that already or maybe...did he mean her place in the city? The thought sent a strange flutter through her stomach.
"I should probably call my grandpa," she exclaimed, pushing away from the table a bit. "I should have called him yesterday, but-"
Ellery nodded, smile softening. "Of course. There's a phone in the living room."
Grateful for the escape, Rowan hurried to the living room. Soft morning light streamed through the lace curtains, casting intricate patterns on the worn rug. With trembling hands, she picked up the old rotary phone from the small table by the window. The phone was heavy, its black paint chipped and faded, cold against her palm. She slowly dialed each digit, savoring the click and the subsequent whirring return of the dial, a sound that echoed through the room. It rang a few times before her grandfather's gruff voice answered. She forced a smile into her voice, though it felt brittle and thin.
"Hello?"
"Grandpa, it's Rowan," she said, her voice wavering slightly.
"Rowan. How are you, dear? Grandma and I were just talking about you! She's right here, say hello."
Rowan's heart sank. How could she tell him the farm had been destroyed? They were already going through so much.
"Hey, Grandma! I miss you too," she spoke through the phone. She could hear her grandmother's faint voice in the background, a fragile whisper.
They chatted for a while, with her grandparents describing their time at the hospital. They spoke of the friendly staff, the nearby café where her grandpa got them breakfast, and their daily crossword puzzles. They seemed to be finding a sense of normalcy.
But as she hung up the phone, a weight settled on her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She returned to the kitchen, where Ellery was preparing breakfast. The aroma of eggs and bacon filled the air. He looked up, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity.
"How did it go?" he asked.
Rowan sank into the chair, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "I-I didn't tell him.," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... couldn't."
Ellery nodded, his expression soft and understanding. "I get it".
They ate breakfast in comfortable silence. The bacon was crispy, the eggs perfectly cooked, and the coffee strong and hot. Despite everything, Rowan felt a sense of calm in Ellery's presence. It was a strange dichotomy - the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her, yet she somehow felt safe in this place that was both utterly novel and strangely evocative, a place her memory held intimately despite the passage of time. She observed Ellery as he ate, his movements deliberate and efficient. He exuded a quiet strength. It both intrigued and intimidated her.
As they finished, Ellery began clearing the dishes, his gaze lingering on Rowan for a moment. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak, to break the silence between them. His eyes held hers for a beat too long. Hesitation exhibited across his features before he turned and carried the dishes to the sink, the sound of running water filled the silence.
