Isadora:
Rhett doesn’t ask. He just lifts me.
One moment I’m swaying, shadows and whispers crawling up my spine, and the next I’m weightless against his chest. His scent wraps around me, grounding and dizzying at once.
The world tilts, flickers. I catch glimpses of the others as we move: Silas gliding like smoke at Rhett’s shoulder, eyes fathomless; Lucian following in long strides, his jacket undone, crimson shirt a streak of blood in the candlelight; and Kai, a golden blur, balancing my untouched plate of food as if it were an offering.
No one speaks. The hall doors close behind us with a thud that reverberates through my ribs.
My head lolls against Rhett’s chest. I feel his heartbeat—a steady, thunderous drum—through his shirt. His grip is iron; he carries me like something breakab
