Maybe that’s what scared her most—that whatever was waking up in her wasn’t something she could fight. That it wasn’t something she could lock in a room and outsmart. It was herself. Her own bones are humming. Her own breath glowing.
“I said go,” she whispered.
And to her horror, the wind answered.
The balcony rail shook. The iron groaned. The wall lanterns lining the corridor behind her burst, glass tinkling to the floor in a glittering rain.
Ethan didn’t move.
He didn’t raise his hands or cower or accuse.
He just looked at her. Eyes soft. Heart breaking.
“You don’t have to be perfect, Sophia,” he said. “You just have to be real.”
But she was already turning away.
She didn’t want to hear softness.
She didn’t want to fall apart in his arms.
Because if she did—whatever was inside
