SOPHIA
Months.
The word sits on my tongue like something spoiled.
I watch Arden's hand settle lower on Daphne's back, watch her tilt her head up to murmur something to him, watch the easy way their bodies fit together. The woman who'd touched Daphne's arm is still staring at the bracelet, lips parted.
"Months?" she echoes.
"Every stone," Arden says. "We wanted it to mean something."
Mean something.
My fingers drift to the necklace at my throat. The diamonds feel colder than they did a minute ago.
Crux's hand is still at my waist. I feel him shift—a subtle redistribution of weight.
Krue enters behind them, and the energy of the room adjusts again. He's in charcoal, no jewelry, no flourish. He doesn't need any. He just walks to Daphne's other side and the three of them stand there,
