(Nova POV)
The guest room was too quiet after Kieran left.
The kind of quiet that presses against your ears and makes every small sound feel too loud—my own breathing, the faint drip of rain outside the window, the slow creak of the old mansion settling. I lay on the bed, still in the black dress, the fabric wrinkled and clinging to my skin like it had absorbed the night's chaos.
My neck throbbed under the bandage. My wrists stung. The curse was quiet now—Malakai's touch had soothed it back to a low hum—but the exhaustion remained. Bone-deep. Heavy.
I stared at the ceiling.
Tried to piece together what had just happened.
The fall on the dance floor.
Kieran catching me.
Damien reaching—then stopping.
The back stairs.
The bed.
Kieran kissing my forehead.
Damien's voice outside the door—cold, sharp: "Stay away from her."
And Kieran's reply.
"That's for her to decide."
Then the question that had sliced through the silence like a blade.
"Do you like her?"
