Alaric broke the silence first.
"Let's go home?" he asked quietly, as though the night itself might object if he spoke too loudly.
"Yes," Salviana whispered.
Her head rested on his shoulder, light but trusting, as if she had finally allowed herself to be held by the moment.
The wind moved gently across the bridge, carrying the scent of water and stone, and above them the stars hung like distant witnesses—steady, patient, unchanged.
Alaric rose slowly, careful not to startle her. He turned toward her and offered his hands. She placed her arms into his without hesitation, and he helped her to her feet, keeping hold of her longer than necessary, unwilling to let the contact end too soon.
When she was standing, he drew her into his chest.
Not tight. Not possessive.
Just close.
