CHAPTER 68
The silence Lucian left behind was not empty; it was heavy, ringing with the echo of the iron lock and the cold finality of his words.
Isabella remained on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the door as if she could still see his retreating shadow through the wood.
Stay in the present. With me.
It was a command, yet it sounded like a plea.
Isabella looked down at her palms. The soot from the shattered stone had stained her skin, a dark reminder of the bridge she had crossed.
Lucian called it a lure. He called it the grave. But the "Void" in her chest—the one he claimed was rotting her—felt quieter now.
The peace she had felt when her doppelgänger passed through her hadn't felt like death. It had felt like the first full breath of air she had taken in years.
She closed her eyes, trying to summon the scent again. Cedar. Jasmine. Rain.
Lucian said it wasn't good. But as she sat there, the scent didn't fade with his departure.
