Morning arrived not with a sunrise, but with a slow, purplish clearing of the darkness. The storm had retreated to a low, sullen drizzle, leaving behind a coastline that looked as if it had been chewed up and spat out by the Pacific.Elias awoke before the first light touched the windows, his body numb from a night spent pressed against the oak pillar. The fire had settled in a bed of glowing white ash, radiating just enough warmth to keep the damp Oregon morning chill at bay.He glanced at Clara. She was still buried under the pile of blankets and her oversized flannel shirt, her dark hair spread across the makeshift pillow like an ink stain on snow. In the dream, the defensive lines around her mouth had vanished, replaced by a softness that pressed against Elias's chest.He remained perfectly still, watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders, memorizing the peace on her face — a peace he had never been able to give her in Seattle, no matter how many diamonds he had b
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