Orpheus’s face goes still.
For a second, he looks like he’s deciding something, then he moves.
Before I can even register what he’s doing, he sweeps me up into his arms.
I gasp, startled, my hands automatically clutching his shirt.
“Orpheus,” I choke out. “Put me down.”
“No,” he says, and his voice is final.
The house blurs.
One second, I’m staring at my broken space, the note still clutched in my hand.
Next, the world snaps.
Air rushes past me. Cold night. Streetlights streaking into lines.
His speed steals my breath, but his hold is solid, unshakable, like I’m locked against him.
I press my face into his chest, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to scream.
We stop so suddenly my stomach lurches.
When I open my eyes, we’re back at the club.
But we’re not going inside through the main entrance.
Orpheus takes a private door, pushing it open with a sharp motion, carrying me through hallways that smell like stone, smoke, and him.
My heart is still pounding, but now it’s not just fear.
It’s the intimacy of being held like this. The way his body is warm, steady, unyielding.
The way he doesn’t seem to care if anyone sees.
He doesn’t take me back to his office.
He takes me somewhere else.
He opens a door to a room, dimly lit, larger than any space I’ve ever slept in.
A bed draped in dark fabric. Candles. Heavy curtains. A sense of privacy that makes my skin prickle.
His bedroom.
He sets me down carefully this time, like he remembers I’m fragile after all.
I take a step back automatically, wiping at my cheeks.
Orpheus shuts the door and turns the lock.
The sound is loud in the quiet.
I stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you safe,” he says.
