The night air was heavy, pressing down on me like the weight of a thousand unsaid words. I should have left the courtyard the moment Lyra appeared, but something rooted me in place—something dark and unrelenting. The fountain murmured behind me, the sound mocking my indecision.
Damon stood between us, a silent force caught in a storm of our making. Lyra’s smirk lingered in my mind, her parting words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “Damon isn’t interested in what you have to offer.” The venom in her tone wasn’t subtle, but it wasn’t the insult that stung the most—it was the flicker of uncertainty in Damon’s eyes when she said it.
I couldn’t let her win.
When I turned to leave, Damon’s voice froze me mid-step. “Mystic, wait.” His tone was sharp, commanding—a side of him I hated and
