Shirley
The silence after his words was thick, clinging to the air like smoke after gunfire. Dante hadn’t pulled away, not completely. His forehead still rested against mine, his hand still cupped my cheek. But every beat of my heart reminded me how fragile this was—how easily it could shatter if either of us pushed too hard.
“Dante,” I whispered, the sound catching in my throat.
His eyes opened, storm-dark and raw, so close I could see every fleck of gold in them. “Don’t say anything unless it’s the truth, Shirley. I can’t take any more half-answers. Not from you.”
My lips parted, but nothing came out. I wanted to spill everything—the shadow of Elias looming over me, the way the hunter’s mark burned and whispered like it had a mind of its own, the fear that some part of me was already
