ENID’S POV
The small space is dimly lit — just the warm amber from a single lamp and the city glow leaking through half-shut blinds. A tea mug sits on the edge of the table, long forgotten. Enid paces, barefoot, her hair pulled back in a hasty knot.
There’s a knock.
I hesitated, heart thudding. Then the door creaks open.
LARK steps in, not waiting for an invite. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click. He doesn’t smile — not really. Just studies me like he already knows what I’m thinking.
“You’re going to tell Asher, aren’t you?” He asked.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I said.
“Didn’t ask if I should be. I’m here because I know you better than anyone, Enid. And you’ve got that look again.” He said back.
“What look?” I asked.
“Like you’re about to set your own house on fire just
