Scarlet
I swiped to answer and held the phone to my ear. “Hey.”
There was a beat of silence, just a flicker of awkwardness—then his voice came through, low and cautious. “Hey.”
I could picture him, jaw tight, standing somewhere with his hand probably fisted in his hair. That nervous habit he didn’t know I’d noticed.
“How’s your evening been?” he asked, like we were trying to act normal for just a second.
I almost laughed. “Ronan, I’m holding a vial of Damien’s blood in my hand. Normal doesn’t exist anymore.”
He let out a soft breath, half amused, half not. “Right, you got that. Good! Good! Umm— so, about that…”
I tensed, my fingers tightening on the glass vial like it might slip away. “What about it?”
He said, his voice dipping into something more serious. “Mom wanted to talk to yo
