Isadora:
The knock comes just as the evening settles into its velvet hush.
I’ve lit only a single candle, the kind that bleeds black wax down its spine, and the room glows like a secret. Outside, the courtyard bells toll the hour—soft iron notes drifting through the old stone of Ashwyck.
Three quiet raps.
My pulse stirs. No one visits at this time unless it’s trouble.
I slip to the door and draw it open.
Kai stands there, moonlight caught in the unruly gold of his hair, a bouquet of small blue blossoms cradled in his hands. Forget-me-nots, their color almost luminous against the dark corridor.
“For you,” he says, and his voice is a low warmth against the cool night. “Handpicked. I arranged them myself—don’t laugh if they’re crooked.”
A breath of damp earth and meadow air follows hi
