Devon got out of bed to drink some water.
Huh?
What's wrong with the lights?
Devon's breath froze in his lungs.
The light suddenly went out.
The sound of the wind blowing.
Then the lights flickered back to life in a violent stutter, illuminating the room in a harsh white glare.
His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, as if trying to claw its way out.
What's wrong with me?
A shadow stood inches away, one that should not, and could not exist.
Yet it did.
And it wore his face.
Same sharp jaw, ash-brown hair that fell messily over the forehead, same pale skin marked from old wounds. Even the faint scar by the eyebrow, the one Devon got when he was nine, reflected perfectly like a mirror.
Except the eyes.
Devon's eyes were warm brown, tired, and always holding that tremor of fear he never quite managed to extinguish.
But the man before him…
His eyes were molten silver.
Cold. Ancient. Powerful.
And he looked amused.
