Heat ran up my neck.
Lock had?—
Okay. No. Don’t think about that yet.
I pushed myself up slowly, expecting my head to pound, but it didn’t. It felt… floaty. And my skin was too warm and my heart was racing.
The room came into focus piece by piece.
A big bed. Bigger than mine. Dark gray sheets. Heavy blankets that smelled like him. A leather jacket tossed over a chair—his jacket. His cut was hanging on a hook near the door, the Crimson Havoc patch bold across the back. A folded hoodie—mine—sat neatly on the nightstand.
My heart thumped once, hard.
This was Lock’s room.
And I was in his bed.
I reached for the edge of the blanket, fingers curling into the fabric like that would explain anything. It didn’t.
A quiet voice drifted from somewhere nearby. “He’s awake.”
I jerked my head up.
In the open doorway stood a man I’d never seen before. Tall, lean, dark hair tied back. He leaned against the frame like he’d been waiting there forever, arms crossed, eyes sharp like he didn’t miss much.
He didn’t look surprised to see me staring.
“You pass out often?” he asked, tone dry.
I blinked. “Um… no?”
“Good,” he said. “Lock was about two seconds from kicking down the infirmary door, and I didn’t feel like explaining to Ember why he trampled half the room.”
My brows pulled together. “Who… are you?”
He gave a tiny shrug. “Friend of his.” Then, as if remembering, “I’m Wraith.”
Right. That name I’d heard Lock say earlier.
Before I could say anything else, another figure appeared behind him.
Lock.
He stepped into the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should come closer or keep his distance. His hair was messy. His jaw tight. And he kept scanning my face like he was checking for signs of if I would pass out again.
He looked… stressed?
I didn’t even know men like him could look stressed.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
My throat felt too tight to answer right away. But I managed a nod. “I—uh—I think so.”
Lock exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for an hour.
Wraith smirked slightly. “Told you he wasn’t dying.”
Lock shot him a look that could’ve cut metal. “Get out.”
