Willow's POV
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A murmur of voices drifted through the floorboards, rising from downstairs, interrupting the quiet sanctuary of Brax's room. My heart tightened in my chest. I knew they were talking about me. The walls seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the argument, and every sharp syllable amplified my anxiety.
As the tension downstairs reached a fever pitch, I heard the unmistakable, steady steps of Brax ascending the stairs. His approach was a drumbeat in my ears. When he pushed open the door, he didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed straight ahead, like a soldier marching to a silent war. He stormed over to his wardrobe, yanking it open and rifling through his clothes with a controlled rage.
“Brax?” My voice was tentative, like a child afraid of waking a sleeping giant. “Is
