And someone knocks on the door.
"Sir." The voice is muffled but urgent. "There's a situation in Hartford. The Baron needs you immediately."
Devyn doesn't move. His hands are still on me, still cradling my face, and I can feel the war happening in his body.
Then his jaw tightens, and he steps back.
The absence of his touch makes me sway.
"We'll continue this." His voice is rough.
And then he's gone.
I sink into my chair.
Okay, Bailey. Okay.
What just happened?
I press my hands to my cheeks. They're burning. My whole body is burning. I should be glad he got called away. I should be relieved that I didn't let a mafia king kiss me while we made ridiculous demands about not sharing each other.
I am so glad.
I am so relieved.
I am such a liar.
THE HALLWAY IS EMPTY. No guards.
I don't try to remember the path. I just walk, letting my feet carry me wherever they want to go, letting the rhythm of movement calm the chaos in my chest.
I turn a corner and find myself in a hallway I've never seen. The walls are older here, the plaster cracked. And there's a door at the end of the hall.
Glowing.
Faint amber light seeping from around the edges. Warm and familiar.
No.
It can't be.
But even before I push the door open, I know. I can smell it. Cream cheese garlic buns and peppermint hot chocolate and old paper and leather.
The door swings open.
Hewhay's.
It’s exactly as I remember. The soaring ceiling, the dark wooden beams, the brass lanterns casting their intentional light. Bookshelves arranged by color. A fireplace crackling.
I step inside.
The door closes behind me.
The last time I was here, I fell asleep and woke up in another world. The last time I was here, I drank tea that tasted like safety and opened my eyes to find armed men and a groom demanding answers I didn't have.
I should leave.
But there's a book on the table beside the velvet armchair.
