He reached out, fingers brushing my hair gently—a small, steady touch. His fingers lingered at my temple, thumb tracing the edge of my cheekbone like he was mapping safe territory.
“Good. Because I’d have to catch you.”
The moment hung there, quiet but heavy with something I didn’t have to name. Not yet.
I looked away first, biting my lip. “Thanks, Drogo.”
He nodded, eyes still on me, calm and steady. “Always.”
I closed my eyes, trying to hold onto the warmth of his leg under my cheek.
But in the corner of the room, the shadow shifted—just slightly.
The shadow thickened—just for a second—taking the shape of claws.
It knew tonight was different. Lights. Audience. Exposure.
And Drogo watching me like he always did. Like he was the only one who saw the real dark behind my eyes.
I wondered if the thing knew that too.
If it was waiting for him to finally look away.
Waiting for night.
Waiting for the stage lights to find me.
And for whatever came after.
7
DROGO
The show night came too fast. After the ghosts, the writing, the way she slept against my chest—now this. A stage. A spotlight. And a choice I couldn't avoid.
The room buzzed with chatter and clinking glasses, smoky haze thick under amber light. I claimed a table near the back—close enough to see everything, far enough that I could slip out if I needed to disappear.
Marcus and Lucy were somewhere up front. I'd told them I'd be late. Needed space. Needed to think.
My phone sat on the table, screen dark. One message. Received an hour ago.
I hope you make the right choice.
That's all it said. No name. Didn't need one. I knew exactly who sent it and what it meant.
The show tonight. The flight tomorrow. Heathrow. New York.
Or everyone I loved would burn.
I took a long pull from my whiskey, trying to drown the knot in my chest. It didn't help. Nothing helped. The weight was there, pressing down, suffocating—Alena’s address in his mouth, her blue door, her kitchen light, all of it weaponized against me.
I should leave. Get on that plane. Keep her safe.
But first, I had to see her. One more time. Even if she’d hate me for what came next.
The lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted. Anticipation crackled through the air like electricity before a storm.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, shoulders rigid. Ready and not ready. Wanting and dreading.
