The garden breathed in the quiet light of early morning, dew clinging to the edges of every leaf, every blade of grass, as though the earth itself had not yet decided whether to wake or remain still a little longer.
Elara stood near the stone path, her posture composed, her hands resting loosely at her sides, though the stillness she held was not empty, it carried awareness, something deeper now that did not sleep even when the world around her softened.
The faint sound of footsteps approached from behind, measured, unhurried, carrying with them a presence that did not seek to conceal itself, yet did not demand attention either.
She did not turn immediately, her gaze lingering on the garden ahead, her breath steady, though her senses had already marked him, already recognized the weight he carried with him.
"They will come," Roberto said quietly.
His voice carried no urgency.
Only certainty.
