4
I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened with Jace. Or, more accurately, what happened during Jace.
It was like trying to describe a fever dream that left real fingerprints on your skin. I remembered his body, sure. The stretch, the friction. But that wasn’t what stayed with me. It was the other feeling. It was the cold mouth on my throat and the invisible hands holding me down, the voice that owned me from inside my own breath.
Aren.
He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He wasn’t even just a haunting.
He was real, and he wanted me.
That should’ve terrified me but it didn’t.
It made me burn.
I sat on my bed in the afternoon. Jace had texted me once. I hadn’t answered. I couldn’t explain why, even to myself, but I didn’t want him. I wanted the ghost who whispered in my ear, who made m
