The evening began in full swing just after Draven’s speech, and I desperately needed to get out.
But my chest still felt too tight. The weight of so many eyes, the weight of Daemon’s smoldering stare, it pressed on me like a brand. Clara had slipped away toward the tables to fetch wine, leaving me momentarily alone, and in that moment all I wanted was escape. A breath of air. A sliver of silence. Anything but this suffocating crush of wolves and power.
I turned toward the far end of the hall, weaving between groups of strangers, skirts brushing against boots and the occasional trailing cloak. Just one more step. One more…….
“Rain, isn’t it?”
The voice halted me mid-stride. Smooth, feminine, but lined with something sharp enough to cut.
I looked up.
She stood before me like a vision
