My pen hovered over the parchment. The ink trembled, like my hands.
Eve stirred again. You’re not hunting for proof of a crime. You’re searching for proof he still touches your world.
“Wrong,” I muttered.
Then why does every path lead back to him?
My jaw clenched. “Because he’s everywhere. Because he’s the King.”
Because you still love him.
The words hit like a slap. I pressed my palm to the scar on my neck. The skin there still throbbed faintly, the echo of a bond that refused to die.
“I want the truth,” I whispered.
The truth is carved in that man’s flesh, Eve hissed. You just don’t want to name it.
I shoved the maps aside, anger cutting through exhaustion. “Not until I’m sure.”
My room was silent except for the tick of the old clock. The air felt too small, too full of ghosts.
