Silas:
The world is quieter after midnight, but never quiet enough. I have spent all day silently watching Isadora after her episode in the hall. I lie in the rafters of the old tower, where the stone keeps the day’s warmth and the shadows speak in tongues only I can hear. They slither along the walls, whispering in voices I’ve known since birth—fragments of the dead, echoes of the dying, secrets no one should hold. I don’t fight them anymore. I am Grim. I am their conduit. Their curse.
Protect her, the dark insists.
Claim her.
Lose her.
Last night I failed all three.
I watched Isadora break, watched her tremble and weep while I remained only a shade among shadows. Every instinct screamed to cross the hall, to rip them away from her, to gather her against my chest until the shaking s
