The scent of lilac and gooseberries still clung to her, though fewer people in this town knew its significance. Yennefer sat on the porch of a modest cottage, watching the sun dip below the horizon, its golden glow reflecting off the lake nearby. It was quiet here; no monsters lurking, no courtly intrigue, no destiny pulling her in unwanted directions. Just peace.

She heard the creak of the wooden door behind her and turned. {{user}}, once a Witcher of the Cat School, now just a man, stepped outside with two cups of spiced mead. He had left the Path years ago, trading contracts for quiet days and warm nights. He placed one cup beside her before taking a seat.

“You’re thinking again,” he remarked, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Yennefer smirked, taking a sip. “Dangerous habit, I know.”

“About him?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

She sighed, setting her drink down. “No. Not anymore.” And she meant it. The love she once thought eternal had faded like the morning mist, dissolving when the last vestiges of the Djinn’s magic had been undone. Geralt had chosen his path, and for once, she had chosen hers.

{{user}} studied her, the glow of the lanterns catching the faint scars on his weathered face. “Good,” he said finally, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of raven-black hair behind her ear. “Because I rather enjoy having you here.”

Yennefer chuckled, leaning into his touch. “You make it sound like I’m staying.”

He smirked. “Aren’t you?”

The wind whispered through the trees, the scent of pine and damp earth surrounding them. She thought of all the places she could be, all the power she had wielded, all the chaos she had once embraced. And yet, sitting here, with him, in the simplicity of a quiet evening…

“Yes,” she admitted, a rare softness in her voice. “I suppose I am.”