Aurel’s POV — In Aeria’s Chambers
The room still smelled faintly of her. Jasmine and sea salt, like the breeze from the cliffs where we used to sneak away as children. I walked in quietly, as if not to disturb a ghost, and shut the door behind me.
Everything was just as she had left it. The scarf thrown over the chair. The brush tangled with strands of silver-blonde hair. A single seashell bracelet lying forgotten on the vanity. I touched it gently, running my fingers over the worn string.
"You always said you hated sentiment," I murmured. "But you kept this."
Then I saw it. Draped across the bed, wrinkled and carelessly discarded—her nightgown. And not just any one. The pale silk one she wore on stormy nights.
It was soaked in dried blood.
I staggered back a step. My breath caught.
