A dark shape emerged from the shadows of the storm, blacker than the night itself, its form cutting through the rain like an omen.
Large and broad, it moved slowly, deliberately, almost staggering under an unseen weight.
Her heart stuttered, then began to pound erratically.
Alaric.
The name echoed through her mind, her soul, as though it had been waiting for this moment. Her breath caught, her chest tight with a mix of hope and dread.
She blinked again, wiping at her eyes, her gaze never leaving the figure. It was him. She knew it was him. Her heart recognized the man even if her eyes struggled to believe it.
Her feet wanted to move, to carry her to him, but they felt like lead. Her body, frozen for so long in grief and cold, refused to obey.
Yet, as he stepped closer, she saw him more clearly—and something was wrong.
