(Ruby's POV)
We walked back to the house in silence.
The gravel crunched under our feet. The wind had died down, leaving the air cold and still. The stars were out now, scattered across the black sky like tiny pinpricks of light.
Nicholas held my hand. His palm was warm, rough from the fire, from the fight, from all the things we had survived.
The manor loomed ahead, dark against the night. The east wing windows were lit, warm squares of gold in the stone. The west wing was still a ruin, black and broken, but I didn't look at it. I looked at the lights.
Mrs. MacLeod was in the kitchen when we came inside. She was wiping down the counter, her back to us.
"Mia went to bed," she said without turning around. "Your mother too. They were exhausted."
"Thank you, Mrs. MacLeod."
She nodded and continued wiping.
Nicholas and I walked upstairs. The corridor was dark, lit only by the sconces on the walls. Our footsteps echoed on the wood floor.
At Mia's door, I stopped.
