I can’t stop thinking about the gray-haired one from last night.
He could be anywhere.
Waiting.
Watching.
I swallow hard.
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound annoyed instead of relieved.
Orpheus’s eyes flicker, and I swear I see satisfaction there. Not smug. Something darker. Like he wanted that yes more than he wants to admit.
He gestures toward the door. “Come.”
We leave the office and move through the private hallway.
The club below is still running, but from up here, it feels distant like a separate world. Like I’m walking through the veins of something alive, and Orpheus is the heart of it.
Servants and attendants bow as we pass.
I don’t.
I feel their eyes on me, though.
I ignore them.
Orpheus doesn’t look at them either.
It’s like the only thing he sees right now is the path ahead.
And me.
We descend the private stairs and slip out through a side exit.
The city air hits my face, cool and damp, and my nerves tighten again. The street lights cast long shadows across the sidewalk. Cars pass, their headlights sweeping over us briefly, then moving on.
Orpheus walks beside me, not too close, not far.
His presence is like gravity.
I hate how quickly my body adjusts to the idea that he can keep me safe.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
He looks too calm for someone who just ripped a man’s head off.
He looks like he could do it again and not even wrinkle his shirt.
We walk in silence for a few blocks.
Every now and then, my eyes flick to the alleys. The shadows. The corners where someone could be waiting.
Of course, Orpheus notices.
“I told you,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not.”
