Fifty Two
“Zaria…” The voice hit her like a hand to the chest, it was familiar, warm and steady. The book Koen had “helped” her find still heavy in her hands. River was already closing the distance, his stride purposeful but unhurried, as if he’d been walking toward her for a while and refused to show it. He looked immaculate the way he always did. Composed, controlled, tidy in a world that seemed determined to unravel her. “My love,” he murmured when he reached her, and he kissed her forehead as if the gesture could smooth the tension out of her skin. “You seem tired.” Zaria forced herself to breathe normally. Don’t flinch. Don’t look guilty. Don’t look like you’ve just had a stranger’s hand under your blouse in the middle of a library. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” she said, caref
- Writer
