The women slept until noon after the long night of the Blood Moon.
By the time the sun reached its peak, peace had returned to the cottages. The air smelled of baked bread and pine.
Tristan sat by the window, reviewing reports from the manor, his brow slightly furrowed. Across the room, Shannon was clearing the hearth, brushing away the cold ashes of last night's fire.
A knock came at the door.
Tristan looked up. "Are we expecting anyone?"
Before Shannon could answer, the door burst open. Mira stood there, bright-eyed and grinning, and behind her was a young woman—about Tristan's age, maybe a little younger—with honey-colored curls and a confidence that filled the room before she even spoke.
"Shannon!" she cried.
Before Tristan could blink, she rushed forward, threw her arms around Shannon, and kissed his cheek.
"I missed you!"
