Shirley
The next morning came too soon. Sleep had been restless again, though not quite haunted like before. Instead of Elias’s voice chasing me through my dreams, I’d been caught in the limbo of half-formed memories and Dante’s face flashing too often for comfort. I told myself it wasn’t the kiss that lingered, but the feeling of surviving alongside him, the way his hand had pulled me back from the edge when the mark urged me to spill blood.
I didn’t believe my own excuse.
By the time sunlight spilled into the house, I was already up, pulling my hair into a messy braid and staring at the reflection in the mirror. There was no hiding the faint exhaustion under my eyes, but there was steel in my posture. I would not walk into that bar like prey. Not anymore.
Zara had been right about o
