Megan tied the last of the woolen satchels shut, her hands trembling despite the stillness of the room. Around her, the house buzzed with an uneasy urgency. The faint morning mist still clung to the wooden shutters, but inside, the air was heavy with unspoken truths.
Orion was moving fast, his strides sharp and purposeful. He gathered the dried herbs, the cloaks, the extra water skins, and bundled up their bedding — checking and rechecking every parcel with focused precision. The leather pack he carried was already stuffed with the essentials. They had no time for sentiment.
Maverick stood by the hearth, gently rocking the sleeping boy in his arms. The child's soft breaths rose and fell against his chest, and even in rest, he held his tiny fists near his heart. Margaret sat in the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around the baby girl, who nestled against her grandmother's shoulder without a sound. The twins had been unusually quiet all morning. As if… they knew.
