LUKAS’S POV
Sweat clung to my palms as I sat beside Selenea on the bed, the mattress dipping under us, the room’s air cool and still, sunlight fading through the window, casting her red hair in a soft glow. Freya’s screams had faded, her boots long gone down the stairs, Callan’s shout echoing after her, leaving us alone, the door shut tight. Ryker’s face—his gray eyes pleading, his voice claiming love—hung heavy, her flinch when he spoke still burned in my mind. Callan’s warning just a few minutes before his arrival, his whisper of Freya’s plot with Ryker, had passed without us talking deeply, no chance to unpack her fear, her plan, her hate. Now, her chest heaved, her breaths fast and sharp, her hands trembling in her lap, her eyes wild, darting to the walls, the floor, anywhere but me.
