MERRIELYNN.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, trying to focus on the book in my lap.
The story was interesting, but I wasn’t really reading.
I kept fiddling with the little silver necklace I always wore, running my fingers along its chain absentmindedly. It was something I did when I was anxious, though I’d never admit it.
The quiet in my room was calming, and for once, I felt like I could breathe.
But that peace shattered when I heard a sudden, rapid knock on my door. It wasn’t polite or casual; it sounded frantic, almost desperate. My heart immediately jumped, and I froze, the book slipping out of my hands and onto the bed.
For a split second, I thought it might be Cormac.
He had a habit of barging into my room without warning. But then I realized it couldn’t be him—he never knock
