Kasmer blinked. "Pardon?"
Lara didn't answer immediately. She simply gazed at him, eyes searching, her voice dropping to a whisper as fragile as the wind. "It's really you…"
For a breathless moment, the world narrowed to the two of them—crouched beside the Iron Horse, the sunlight spilling through high windows in golden shafts.
Dust motes drifted in the warm air like suspended stars. Her hand, smudged with grease, hovered near his on the chain. She was close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath, and yet somehow she felt even closer than that—like a memory rising to meet him.
That scent—earthy cedarwood, rain-drenched stone, and something else indefinably him—stirred something deep in Lara's chest.
"I thought I was imagining it," she murmured. "Back at the palace… that scent passed me once. I turned to look, but you were already gone. I told myself it couldn't be real."
