I wake up in Kieran’s bed, his scent wrapped around me.
The sheets feel too soft against my skin. My body hums with unfamiliar power—lighter in the bones, heavier in the blood.
Black veins still trace faint lines along my forearms, but they no longer spread. They settle.
I push upright. Kieran sits in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice rough.
“How long?” I ask.
“A few hours since you got here.” He stands slowly. “You jumped from the third floor. Clawed Marcus across the face. Then dropped into my arms like your body finally gave out.”
The memories hit sharp and fast—needle in my arm, fire in my veins, talons sliding out with a wet click. I flex my fingers. They look normal now. Almost.
I swing my legs over the edge and stand.
