The next morning broke with the first streaks of pale gold seeping through the heavy curtains of Blackthorne Manor. The silence in Lucien's chamber was almost too thick, the kind that carried secrets like a second skin. Liora stirred, the memory of the previous night still lingering, Darius's shadowed presence, Rowan's grave warning, and the way Lucien had stood rooted in the garden as if shackled to a ghost.
She rose quietly, wrapping a shawl over her shoulders. But Lucien was already awake. He stood by the window, dressed, his back rigid, the faint light tracing the sharp lines of his jaw.
"You didn't sleep," Liora whispered, stepping closer.
Lucien's eyes remained fixed outside, on the frost-kissed garden. "Sleep is a luxury I lost long before you came here."
She hesitated, then asked, "Is it because of him? Because of Darius Vale?"
