Her voice barely grazed her lips, a fragile whisper left half-formed. The agonizing question was crushed into dust before it could even land. Her throat locked up tight, her breath catching painfully in her chest—
—and then the bedroom door creaked.
She flinched, the abrupt sound stabbing through the heavy silence like a physical blade. Her bruised body instinctively curled tighter beneath the protective layer of the sheets. Her pulse spiked, unsure if she was flooded with relief or sheer terror.
Then his voice washed over her, smooth, low, and rough with morning gravel.
"Morning," Cruxius called out casually, the deep timber vibrating through the room as if he hadn't just shattered her fragile heart and stitched it back together in a single breath.
Ytrisia blinked, her muscles freezing in place.
