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Heat rushes straight to my face.

Outside, one of the bikes roars to life far below the terrace while sunlight spills across the hills surrounding the estate, gold catching against glass and black stone and moving water.

For the first time since the forest, I let myself believe I’m not going back.

With Ciaran’s arm still wrapped around my shoulders, I stare out across the estate.

Safe.

For the first time in a very long time, I might believe it.

By the second evening, I’m going out of my mind.

My ribs still hurt when I move too quickly and the bruises haven’t completely faded. But after two days of staring at the same walls, the same windows, and the same stretch of sky beyond the estate, I’d rather risk irritating three doctors than spend another night trapped in this room.

I stand in front of the mirror, fastening the last button of my shirt, and try not to think too hard about the fact that I’m about to have dinner with the Virels. My stomach disagrees with that plan.

The multi-slate on the dresser lights up with yet another message from Damaris.

if they murder you at dinner, cough twice and i’ll come save you

A second message arrives before I can answer.

actually, don’t cough twice, your ribs are broken. just text me

also, i’m already downstairs

no one warned me these people live in an actual fucking castle

Despite everything, I laugh. It hurts, but it feels good.

Damaris has been sending messages almost hourly since I woke up, alternating between threats, medical advice he definitely isn’t qualified to give, and increasingly dramatic complaints about the estate.

Somehow, we still haven’t managed to see each other, and I’m beginning to suspect somebody made sure of that.

“You’re nervous.”

I glance up to find Ciaran standing across the room, fastening the cuff around his sleeve.

“I’m not nervous.”

His eyebrows rise. “Mouse.”

Before I can argue, he’s crossing the room. He stops in front of me, slides a finger beneath my jaw, and tips my head upward. “You still tired?”

“A little.”

His thumb brushes my skin. “You don’t have to do this tonight.”

I stare at him. “You’ve spent two days refusing to let me walk to the bathroom alone.”

“That’s different.”

“You threatened a doctor yesterday.”

“He deserved it.” His thumb brushes my jaw again, the teasing disappearing from his expression. “Mouse. You can stay upstairs if you want.”

I know he means it, and part of me is tempted. But the other part is going out of its mind. And if I’m honest, I want to see Damaris.