Chapter 87
Draven’s POV
I didn’t waste time.
The newspaper crumpled in my grip, the ink smudging against my fingers, but I barely felt it. My body moved on instinct, my stride purposeful as I stormed down the corridor. The torches lining the stone walls flickered with each step, casting shifting shadows that matched the turmoil in my chest.
The whispers followed, an undercurrent of hushed speculation and stolen glances. They thought I didn’t notice. They thought I wouldn’t hear the murmured words exchanged behind my back.
But I did.
And it only stoked the fire burning inside me.
Tristan walked beside me, his steps light, measured, almost lazy—but I knew him too well. The casual air he wore like armor was a mask. He was watching, assessing, waiting for the moment I would snap.
"Wher
