Shirley
Morning light bled through the thin curtains, warming my face long before I wanted to open my eyes. My body ached from the fight with the rogues—my ribs sore, my arms stiff—but it wasn’t the pain that kept me awake. It was the memory of last night.
Of Dante’s mouth on mine.
Of his words, sharp and raw, cutting straight to the bone: “I can’t keep treating you like an enemy.”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes, willing myself not to replay every second of that moment, but it was useless. The way he looked at me, like I mattered more than he wanted to admit… it haunted me worse than the nightmares of Elias.
Dragging myself out of bed, I moved through the motions—brushing my teeth, pulling on a loose shirt, sweeping my hair up into a messy bun. The mirror reflected a wo
