Elle POV
Blake knew before I did.
I saw it in the way his body went rigid, the way his fire flared and then pulled inward as if he were gripping it with both hands. His gaze snapped to me—not sharp, not commanding—but worried.
“Elle,” he said quietly.
The way he said my name made my chest tighten.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the lingering warmth of the bond, still trying to understand what it meant to be marked, to be chosen. The room felt wrong—too small, too loud, too full of sensation. My skin tingled like static clung to it, every nerve buzzing.
“Something’s happening,” I whispered.
Blake was already moving. He knelt in front of me, large hands coming to rest on my knees—not restraining, not claiming—just there. Steady. Solid.
“Yes,” he said softly.
