She swallowed hard. I watched her throat move and wanted to press my lips to the pulse fluttering beneath her skin.
I grinned wider instead. Couldn’t help it. She was gorgeous when she was flustered, all pink cheeks and stammered excuses and defiant eyes that refused to admit defeat.
She ducked under my arm and made a break for the door.
“You’re investigating us,” I called out.
Mira stopped. Hand on the door handle then back to me.
I crossed to my bed and sat down on the edge, giving her space. She needed it, I could tell. Needed room to breathe, to think, todecide whether she was going to keep running or finally stand still long enough to have a real conversation.
“What do you want to know?”
For a long moment, she didn’t move or speak. Just stood there with tension in every line of her body, fighting some internal battle I could only guess at.
Then she sighed. The sound was exhausted, defeated. She’d been carrying this for too long and couldn’t hold it anymore.
She turned to face me.
“The memories,” she said quietly. Her arms wrapped around herself, hugging her own body. The nightgown left her arms bare, and I could see the goosebumps rising on her skin. “I remember the lantern dance. The wounded wolf. And in my journal, I think I wrote about you three.”
“It’s the week you forgot.”
“I know.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, self-soothing. “But it’s so confusing. The fragments don’t connect. I wanted to find out for myself what happened. What I felt. Whether any of it was real or if I’m just losing my mind.”
Her voice trailed off, frustration creasing her brow. She looked so small standing there in her thin nightgown, arms wrapped around herself, admitting fears she probably hadn’t said out loud to anyone.
“Because you’re still afraid to fully trust us,” I said softly.
Her eyes met mine. The fear there was raw. Honest and real in a way that made my heart ache.
Mira nodded.
I wanted to cross the room. To pull her into my arms and hold her until the fear went away. But that wasn’t what she needed right now. She needed honesty. Someone to meet her where she was instead of where we wanted her to be.
“It’s okay.” I kept my voice gentle. “We get it.”
She blinked. Surprised, maybe, that I wasn’t pushing. That I wasn’t making excuses or deflecting.
“But you can still try asking,” I added. “Up to you if you want to believe it or not.”
She looked away. Her gaze traveled around the room, restless, landing on nothing in particular. Taking in the mess of clothes on my chair, the stack of books on my nightstand, the general chaos that followed me everywhere.
Until her eyes stopped on the turnout jacket hanging near my closet.
“Valdris,” she read aloud. Her head tilted, curiosity replacing some of the fear. “You guys use the same surname?”
She crossed the room and took the jacket off the hanger, examining it.
Myjacket. The one I wore on calls, the one that smelled of smoke, sweat, andme.
I leaned back on my arms, watching her. “Yeah. The town knows us as brothers although it was actually just Lucian’s surname.”
“You’re not actual brothers?”
“Not by blood.”
“Figures.” She looked up at me, those mismatched eyes searching my face. “You don’t look alike.”
