“You’re my friend?” I asked.
Y E S
Warmth pricked behind my eyes. “I’m glad,” I murmured. “God knows I could use a friend or two.”
I barely had time to exhale before a frantic knock hammered at my front door.
I jolted upright.
Echo’s pen rolled off the desk.
Cautiously, I crossed the room and opened the door.
Ash stood there.
Wide-eyed.
Alert.
Like he’d run through a storm and was still listening for thunder.
The moment he saw me, the tension in his shoulders broke — his whole face lit up in this raw, relieved way that made my heart lurch.
“Hey,” I breathed.
He didn’t say a word.
He just moved — fast — throwing himself at me in a desperate, impulsive hug.
I flinched back on instinct.
His expression shattered.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he blurted, stumbling away from me, fists clenched at his sides like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
“Ash—wait.”
I stepped forward and touched his shoulder, grounding him before he spiralled.
“It’s okay. I’m not…”
I swallowed hard, the truth heavy but steady.
“I’m not scared of you, Ash.”
His breath hitched — a sharp, disbelieving sound.
Like that one sentence was something he had needed for years.
Slowly, cautiously, he leaned into my touch, closing his eyes.
A low, almost involuntary rumble vibrated in his chest — not quite a purr, not quite a sigh, something primal and painfully earnest.
“There was a fire,” he murmured, voice rough with worry. “And I was looking for you. The winds told me you were near it.”
“The wind told you?” I asked gently.
He nodded, opening his eyes but not moving away from my palm.
