I slip from the bed like a thief, peeling myself away from the warmth with infinite care. The cold of the wooden floor bites into my bare feet, a sharp, grounding shock.
But it's nothing—nothing—compared to the icy dread Moon's voice has left coiled in the pit of my stomach.
What is he doing at the Kael mansion?
The thought is a silent scream.
I have to go.
Now.
I pause, my gaze falling back to the bed—to Deniz.
He lies deep in sleep, peaceful and vulnerable. The soft rhythm of his breath is the only sound in the room.
Dark hair spills messily across his temple, his expression unguarded and beautiful, touched with a faint, tired softness that makes my chest ache.
I shouldn't disturb him. Let him have this peace.
Moving silently, I pad to the small writing desk. I pick up a pen, the cold metal familiar in my trembling fingers.
On a slip of paper, I write in a careful, controlled script—the handwriting of Zyren Kael, not the frantic scrawl of Neon's fear:
