Jasper’s POV
The steel door of the Mountain House groaned open behind me with the kind of finality that made my stomach twist.
I was being escorted out, by three of her guards, each of them large, stone-faced, and utterly uninterested in the man who used to make Scarlett White laugh in her sleep.
I stumbled a little, still lightheaded. My wrists burned from the rope that had bound me earlier, and my mouth was dry with a hundred words I didn’t get to say.
But I’d seen her.
God, I’d seen her.
She looked different. Stronger. Colder. Not cold in the way of bitterness, but the way steel is cold, refined, sharpened, forged by fire. And I… I was the fire. Or maybe the ashes. I didn’t know anymore.
What I did know was that I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be done.
She was alive. She was breathing
