Chapter 56.
The morning light was unforgiving. It didn’t shimmer like the gold silk of the night before; instead, it cut through the kitchen windows in sharp, clinical slats, illuminating every stray crumb on the counter and the deep, exhausted shadows beneath Briar’s eyes. Briar sat at the small wooden table, her fingers curled tightly around a ceramic mug of coffee that was far too hot to drink. She had scrubbed the remnants of the Gala from her face, but her skin still felt sensitized, humming with the memory of Victor’s touch. She was wearing her thickest wool robe, tied tightly at the waist, acting as a secondary shield against the suffocating silence of the room. Across from her sat Victor. Even at 6 AM, he looked combat-ready. He was back in a clean white t-shirt that stretched over his ches
- Writer
