I didn't answer the text. I didn't eat the food he left outside my door in the East Wing. And I certainly didn't expect him to show up at my apartment in Oakhaven twenty-four hours later.
I was sitting on my threadbare rug, surrounded by drying herbs. Mugwort, valerian, and nettle. The air smelled of earth and bitter tea. It was safe. It was boring. It was exactly what Sibal wanted for me.
Three heavy strikes.
My heart did that traitorous stutter-step in my chest. I stared at the peeling white paint of the door.
"Go away," I whispered, though I knew he couldn't hear me. Or maybe he could. His hearing was supernatural, after all.
"Open the door, Lilura," Guilermo’s voice came through the wood. Low. Resonant. "Or I’ll take it off the hinges. And your landlord looks like the type to kee
