THE WARDS hummed faintly in the silence after Grayson's phone went still. A pulse of magic rippled through the walls — protective, alert — as though the mansion itself had bristled at the name Hollow.
Mailah stood motionless, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The air felt charged, sharp as broken glass.
Grayson's gaze remained on the dark screen of his phone. When he finally looked up, his eyes had cooled from that gray color to their usual storm-blue-gray — the color he wore when trying to keep the beast in check.
"Grayson," she said quietly. "Talk to me."
He exhaled slowly, the sound edged with restraint. "There's nothing more to say tonight. I'll deal with it."
"You'll deal with it?" Mailah echoed, incredulous.
That made him glance up sharply. His tone was low, warning. "Mailah."
"No," she said, stepping closer. "You can't keep brushing it off like I'm some mortal you need to shield. I live here. I sleep here. If someone comes for you, they're walking straight through me."
