But the silence stretched on.
Even with her beside him, her presence real and tangible, his thoughts still churned. He stared into the fire, as if it might offer clarity, but the flames danced without meaning. He knew she was waiting. He could feel the patience in her breath, hear the quiet strength behind her stillness.
"It was in my head," he finally said, voice low and raw. "It spoke to me like it knew me. Like it had always known me."
Unnur didn't flinch. She lifted her head slightly, her cheek brushing his shoulder. "What did it say?"
He hesitated. The words still felt dangerous, as if speaking them would invite the thing back.
"That I can't have both love and duty," he said. "That they'll tear me apart. That I already know it."
Unnur was quiet for a long moment.
Then, she reached for his hand beneath the bowl, her fingers curling around his.
"Then we'll prove it wrong. Together."
Emilio turned to her. Her eyes held no doubt. Only the storm outside wavered.
He nodded.
