Shirley
The night after my talk with Cassandra was restless. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the hum of the bar quieted to silence, my thoughts running in circles. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante’s burning gaze, Asher’s careful smile, Cassandra’s haunted warning. My neck itched faintly, the rune pulsing in a rhythm I couldn’t ignore. Something inside me felt like it was coiled too tightly, ready to snap—or unravel.
By morning, I was already raw with tension. I showered, dressed, and forced myself downstairs, but the bar smelled too sharp of whiskey and stale smoke, and even the coffee I made tasted bitter. I needed air. Space. Anything that wasn’t these walls closing in.
Cassandra had told me that betrayal often started from within, that rogues moved like shadows only w
