Bearclaw Valley cigarettebud

Cole shifted uncomfortably under Ameline’s gaze, his amber eyes flicking briefly to the ground before meeting hers again. Her question wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight, and he felt the heat of embarrassment creep into his chest.

I overstepped, he said quietly, dipping his head in apology. Didn’t mean to. Just… spoke without thinkin’.

He straightened slightly, though the weight of her question still lingered. Yeah. Once. Long ago. His voice was steadier now, but there was a hint of something deeper—regret, maybe, or a reluctance to dwell on the past.

Cole cleared his throat and glanced to the side, as if the memory itself was something to shake off. Different times, he added, keeping his tone neutral. Learned my place since then.