The village slept under a blanket of shadows, the night creeping slowly as darkness seemed to swallow every alley and rooftop. The curfew was tangible; fear of the wolf had emptied the streets, and every closed door echoed like a reminder of the danger lurking outside. {{user}} was in the mines, waiting for Peter, her nerves taut and her breath shallow, completely unaware that someone else was watching.

What she didn’t know was that Henry, her fiancé in that forced marriage, was hidden among the beams of the ceiling, blending with the shadows of the house, silently observing her, listening to every sound, every creak of wood, every movement she made. Hours later, morning arrived with its soft gray light, bringing with it the warm smell of freshly cooked eggs drifting from Henry’s kitchen. The aroma filled the house, a comforting contrast to the chill of the previous night.

{{user}} entered without knocking; after all, this place was also her home now. She approached the kitchen and leaned on the counter, letting the warmth of the fire seep through her fingers. Normally, Henry would have greeted her with a smile or at least a friendly gesture, but this time he did not. He kept his face serious, shoulders tense, his gaze fixed on some indefinite point ahead of him. {{user}} noticed immediately; no words were needed to understand that something weighed heavily on him, that there was a wall between them, and that this morning would not be like any other.