She looks at him—really looks at him. At the way he’s leaning back now, so sure, so unshaken,
as if this has never been a question for him. As if, in some quiet part of himself, he’s always known. And maybe she has too.


⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺
⸺ And God help her... she sees it too.
She looks at him—really looks at him. At the way he’s leaning back now, so sure, so unshaken,
For so long —for Amory— the future has been a distant, shapeless thing, something she
She swallows, blinking up at him, at the way the firelight catches in his eyes, at the way the



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