They had spoken his name again.
Magnus.
A name she hadn't heard aloud in years—one that had drifted into silence, like a wound time chose to ignore. But now, spoken in that quiet room, it brought back the ache she thought she'd buried.
He had vanished from their lives like a ghost—but ghosts never truly stayed gone.
Rosalind remained motionless as the memory slowly receded, leaving behind a cold, empty hollow in her chest. It wasn't until a warm hand gently covered hers that she felt herself pulled back to the present.
Beside her, Dorian watched her in silence, his eyes carrying a quiet, unwavering understanding. Without a word, he reached out and gently squeezed her hand—steady, warm, grounding.
Her gaze trembled slightly as she looked up at him. In those deep blue eyes was worry, yes, but also a soft, resolute strength she could lean on.
