No one stops me.
But I feel someone watching me go—probably Theo, always watching with eyes that see too much.
The hallway is cooler. Quieter.
I slip beneath the staircase, shoulders pressed to the wall like the wood might hold me together.
My breath comes fast and shallow. I close my eyes and try not to feel anything.
The hunger is worse now. More insistent. Like it’s been waiting for me to be alone so it can stop pretending to be polite.
I press a hand to my throat, where the glow started. Rub it like I can make it disappear.
But it’s still there. Warmth under my skin that doesn’t belong.
What if it’s worse than they think?
What if I’m not like them at all?
What if it’s not a gift?
The thoughts come sharp, each one slicing a little deeper.
Maybe that’s why Thane didn’t name it. Maybe there isn’t a pretty title for whatever I’m becoming.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Light. Deliberate.
I tense.
“It has a way of getting under your skin, doesn’t it?”
Stellan’s voice cuts clean through the dark.
He leans against the doorframe like he’s been waiting for this moment.
All that elegance, effortless and dangerous.
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right, and we both know it.
He doesn’t push.
Just watches me with those razor eyes, taking in my posture, my breathing, the way I’m braced like the walls are the only thing keeping me upright.
“You’ve been starving for days,” he says simply. “It’s not food you need. And it won’t stop.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Don’t I?”
His head tilts. He studies me like a riddle he’s already solved.
“Incubus-class Feeder. Same as me.”
