Acacia didn't move from the window.
The curtains danced softly around her as the sea breeze drifted through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of salt and rain.
Early morning light spilled across the room, warm and golden, touching the side of her face. Her dark hair moved with the wind, loose strands brushing against her cheeks, but she didn't bother fixing them.
Seron sat frozen on the edge of the bed, staring at her. For a moment, he almost forgot where he was.
The last thing he remembered clearly was the prison cell. The smell of rust and blood. The sound of chains dragging across concrete. Men screaming somewhere far down the corridor. He had gone to sleep expecting death. He had accepted it. Welcomed it, even.
But now. Clean sheets. Fresh clothes. A quiet room overlooking the ocean. And Acacia. Only… she wasn't the Acacia he remembered anymore.
