Flames soon flickered inside the hearth. Warmth slowly spread through the room. Genevieve sat near the fire while Nathaniel hung their wet coats nearby. For several minutes, neither spoke; the storm provided more than enough noise.
Eventually, Genevieve broke the silence. "Thank you."
Nathaniel looked over. "For what?"
"Coming after me."
"Someone had to."
A faint smile appeared. "You really are protective."
"Maybe you are really reckless."
She laughed softly. The sound lingered in the warm, firelit room. Nathaniel found himself smiling in return. The moment felt unexpectedly peaceful: outside, the storm raged; inside, the world seemed smaller, somehow simpler.
Genevieve stretched one leg carefully toward the fire. A brief wince crossed her face. Nathaniel noticed immediately. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"That was not convincing, Genevieve."
"My knee. From the horse."
"No." She looked down at the flames. "From years ago."
Nathaniel's attention sharpened. "The bridge."
Her eyes lifted slowly. "How did you know?"
"You touched the same leg when we discussed the accident."
Silence followed. Genevieve studied him carefully. "You really do notice everything."
Nathaniel sat across from her. "Tell me."
For several moments, she stared into the fire. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded distant. "I was seventeen." Rain struck the windows; thunder echoed through the woods. Yet Nathaniel heard every word clearly. "The bridge had been damaged for months." Genevieve folded her hands together. "People complained. Workers complained. Travelers complained." Her expression hardened slightly. "Nothing happened."
Nathaniel remained silent.
Genevieve continued: "The collapse occurred during heavy rain." She laughed softly. "Ironically, not unlike today." The humor faded quickly. "I remember the sound most clearly." Her gaze drifted toward the flames. "Wood breaking." A pause followed. "Then water."
Nathaniel felt something tighten in his chest—not because of the accident itself, but because of the way she described it: carefully, as though she had told herself the story many times.
"The doctor said I was lucky." She touched her knee unconsciously. "Several months of recovery. Years of stiffness afterward."