Ragnar stirred awake to the soft creak of the carriage settling at last.
Dawn light slipped through the narrow window slits, painting faint gold across Elaris's face where she lay curled against the opposite bench.
Her breathing was slow, peaceful—too peaceful for the world outside.
He watched her a moment longer than he meant to.
The way her lashes fluttered, the small frown that tugged at her mouth even in sleep.
Something tight loosened in his chest.
'She's grown roots here,' he thought, pressing a hand over his heart as if to hold them in place.
'I can't rip them out. Not now.'
A gentle smile curved his lips despite everything.
"Elaris," he murmured, voice low and rough from the road.
He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"We're here."
Her eyes cracked open, bleary and confused.
She rubbed at them with the heel of her hand like a child, blinking up at him.
