The night was quiet, the silence broken only by the soft hiss of falling snow. Cass stood on the edge of the patio, the collar loose in her trembling hands. The cold bit at her skin, but she barely noticed it over the ache in her chest. The ache of knowing that this was the end.
Uriel sat in his usual spot, reclined in one of the wrought-iron chairs with a glass of wine dangling from his fingertips. The night framed him like a painting: the falling snow catching on his disheveled hair, his head tilted back slightly as though savoring the bitter chill. The stillness of his body was at odds with the storm of emotions Cass knew were brewing beneath his surface.
He didn't look at her when he spoke. His voice was soft, contemplative. "Ours was never meant to be a love story."
