Doesn't blink.
Doesn't soften.
He's a statue.
Cold.
Unyielding.
Dead.
I turn and walk toward the door.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely grip the handle.
"For what it's worth," I say quietly, without turning around, "I was going to show you the recording. I was going to prove that I chose you over the money. That I would always choose you."
Silence.
"But you're right," I continue. "Trust is a luxury you can't afford. So I guess we're done."
I open the door.
The cold air from the hallway rushes in.
"Goodbye, Cyprian."
I walk out.
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
And I don't look back.
Because if I do, I'll see the truth written across his stone face:
He's not protecting himself from me.
He's protecting himself from the terrifying possibility that I might actually love him.
And he can't handle that.
So he's choosing isolation.
Choosing safety.
Choosing stone.
And I can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.
Chapter 12: Tamsin
The first breath is everything.
Air floods his lungs—not the shallow, restricted pulls he's endured for centuries, but a massive, chest-expanding inhalation that I canfeelbeneath my palms. His ribs expand against my stomach. His entire torso rises, lifting me with it.
And then his eyes open.
Molten gold.
