She looks like fucking royalty.
The razor-sharp edge of my panic attack softens, my breaths become deeper, and my heart slows.
When I finally feel like myself again, I sink into a scorching bath filled with eucalyptus and mint-scented bubbles. Every knot, bruise, and sore muscle initially screams against the heat, then slowly loosens, softens, and lets go.
I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker Ezra grabbed from my bathroom at home and allow my mind to wander while “Aqua Regia” by Sleep Token plays hypnotically in the background.
This is what happens when you fuck around with ancient shadow daddies and Spotify shuffle.
Of course it’s this song. It always is when I’m just unstable enough to need it.
And this morning?
This morning, I need the sexy piano ballad wrapped in an existential crisis to remind me that feeling everything is still better than feeling nothing.
The melody isn’t just in my ears—it curls around me, bar by bar, note by note, dangerous and divine. It presses into my skin, sears through my bones, scorching the skittering bugs along the way. Wildflowers slip from my bloodied hands, replaced by the cold steel of a sword. This isn’t a song; it’s a prophecy, an ancient embrace. And maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to answer it.
My fist curls at my chest, resisting the urge to rip my ribcage open just to see what’s still beating inside.
Instead, I sit here thinking about how Sleep Token single-handedly convinced me that being emotionally rearranged and sexually obliterated by a man in a mask is a valid lifestyle choice.
I take thirty blissful minutes to soak in Ezra’s massive tub, then finally force myself to get out and start my day.
My very strange day.
Which includes checking on my hellhound who is now in a human body, as well as calling my hysterical best friend to let her know the guy she set me up with tried to rape and murder me.
Christ, two days ago, my life mostly made sense. Now, it’s just a chaotic, but admittedly beautiful, mess.
Pulling on a comfy oversized T-shirt and a pair of running shorts, I tiptoe down the hallway to Louie’s room.
“Lou? Are you awake?”
I wait a few seconds with my ear pressed against the door.
Shit, I guess she’s still out. I really fucking miss her.
Maybe some coffee and breakfast will help the yucky feeling still crawling under my skin. When I enter the kitchen, I realize Ezra wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t have any food.
I seriously doubt he’s ever used this kitchen, at least not how it’s meant to be used. The meager pile of snacks Ezra brought from my house looks severely out of place in his empty, sterile kitchen. At least he grabbed my coffee!
It takes almost twenty minutes to find a coffee machine in Ezra’s barren house. The fact that I found one is a miracle. Hehasappliances and kitchenware, but they’re brand new, boxed up, and stored in his pantry. Thankfully, this coffee pot has a reusable filter, so I set everything up and bounce on my toes while the coffee brews.
There’s exactly one mug in Ezra’s entire damn house, and it says, “I like big books, and I cannot lie.”
I stare at it for a second, then burst into an unladylike snort-laugh that echoes off the stone counters.
This is so anti-Ezra in every way. I bet Thane gave this to him as a gag gift.
Except … Ezra doesn’t seem like someone who would keep a silly, sentimental present.
Wait.
Unless he kept itbecauseThane gave it to him.
Well, that’s fucking adorable.
While I sit at the kitchen island, I sip my coffee and begin a grocery list. When I’m certain I’ve covered the basics, I grab my mug and wander through the house.
