Sunset Valley What the future says,

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— blackfell lingers there, just long enough to be certain of her notice.
crimson eyes seeing her and something in him burns for her approval. how dare she still look at him like that. like he is wanted. like he is hers.
he turns cold. dropping the herbs beside a stone, neatly, pointedly. it is not meant for her. his jaw works as he looks at her, moonlight ghosting over the sharp lines of his face, casting half his stare in crimson shadow.
you shouldn’t be out here alone. the truth is they are not out of the woods. morwenna will never be safe again, not truly. and because of it, guilt clings to him like bloodstained frost—he failed to protect her. failed to protect ishmira. failed to protect gjalla. and still she looks at him like that.
he should leave. gods, he should turn and walk back to the den. to gjalla. to the life he swore he would build.
but he does not.
instead, blackfell moves forward, closing that short distance. tasting his own baited breath.