Greatwater Lake No peace for the wicked

His golden eye tracked her as she began to turn away, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Theirs, you say,” he murmured, the words almost too soft to catch. “And yet you’re still here.”

He shifted his weight, leaning into the statement without rising. There was no malice in his tone, only quiet observation, as though he were testing her resolve, gauging the depth of her detachment.

“Seems to me,” he added after a beat, “you’re not quite ready to let go.”