“Report,” Rook says, voice low and cold.
“She’s been in her room all day,” I tell him. “No movement since breakfast. I don’t like it.”
“Maybe she’s sleeping,” he argues.
“She’s not,” I say with a sigh.
A pause. Then, “You sure?”
“I’ve been watching the feed. She’s too still. Not pacing, or moving. It’s like she’s waiting for something.”
Rook hums thoughtfully, the sound scraping down my spine. “You think she’s planning something.”
“Iknowshe is.”
“She won’t get far,” he muses aloud.
“I’m not worried about her getting out,” I say, softer now. “I’m worried about what she’s going to do before she tries.”
Another pause. He doesn’t answer right away, which means he’s thinking. Calculating the variables we don’t see. That's why he’s the king. The silence between us stretches until I almost fill it with more words — and then I hear the shift in his tone when he finally speaks. “Keep an eye on her.Don’tengage.”
“Understood,” I answer gruffly.
“Wraith.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“She gets under your skin, you step back. Don’t let her scent confuse you.”
My jaw tightens. “I can handleonewoman.”
“Good,” Rook says. “Thenhandleher.
The line goes dead after that. I drop the phone on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The room feels too small, the air too thick. I rub the back of my neck, trying to shake the static off.
And then the door opens.
For a moment, I think I imagined it — the creak, the shift of air — untilshesteps in. Ember.
The world seems to tilt, her scent crowding the space between us. It’s warm and decadent, the perfect scent for such a sinful looking woman.
She’s wearing black. Not the kind of black that hides, but the kind that hunts. The dress clings to her like a second skin, the neckline deep enough to make reason crawl out the window. Herhair’s loose, copper waves catching the dull light, her lips bare but flushed like sin’s afterthought.
Every instinct in me reacts —protective, possessive, wrong.
She shouldn’t look like that. Not here. Not for me.
“Evening,” she says softly, voice careful, like she’s testing the ground before stepping on it. I don’t trust myself to answer. She tilts her head, eyes skating over me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I almost laugh. “Something like that.”
She takes a few steps closer, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor, slow and harsh.
“Vale’s gone?” she asks.
“For now,” I answer hesitantly, wondering just where she’s going with this. She doesn’t take long to show me.
“Good.”
