Elias sat there for a long while, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, but no matter how long he looked, it offered him no wisdom. He could feel it, the sharp, invisible weight in the air between them, the unmistakable tension of Emma being angry. He just didn't know why.
And truth be told, he rarely did.
He wasn't good at reading people. Never was. He could read the wind, a forge's fire, the sound of steel meeting stone… but not people.
And Emma? Emma was the peak of the mountain he'd never been meant to climb. She smiled, and he'd feel rich; she sighed, and he'd feel poor again. Out of all the men in the world, that woman had somehow fallen in love with him. A nobody. He'd never understand how that happened, and he feared he'd wake up one morning and realize it had been a dream.
So when he realized she was mad, he didn't dare sleep. Not tonight. Not with her lying there, turned away from him, silent, her back a wall of delicate fury.
