Rune was kneeling over her, lit by the dying fire, his face half in shadow. But even in shadow, his crumpled expression opened a chasm in her chest. She had never seen him look like that. Frightened. His hands found her face again, rough but warm. “Elma,” he murmured, “You’re safe. You’re safe.” It sounded as much a reassurance as a prayer on his lips.
