If Ferron was dead, she had to see it with her own eyes. She had to know, or he’d haunt her.
She reached the first door on the left and stood trying to breathe, to make her hand steady enough to grasp the knob.
It opened silently.
The room was swallowed by shadows. The moonlight poured like a molten silver river through the windows. Her eyes went to the bed. It was empty.
As she stood in the doorway, the air in the room shifted.
She turned sharply towards the desk. It was mostly in shadows, the edge covered in bottles. Then a shadow moved, and the moonlight fell across Ferron’s face, catching his pale hair and skin so that he seemed to glow.
“Helena,” he said softly.
She stood frozen, not sure if she felt relief or terror at the sight of him.
He had never called her anything before
