When the last elder left, the room felt heavier.
Talia placed the folded parchment on the oak table with a hand that didn’t tremble.
She wasn’t hiding it anymore.
“I found this in Alina’s room after the attack,” she said.
“When the blood was still wet.”
Lucian didn’t speak.
He just listened—too still.
“The letter was for me,” she continued. “But I hid it. I didn’t trust anyone.”
A beat.
“Not even you.”
Savage rose behind Lucian’s eyes. It wasn’t rage—it was the sting of betrayal.
He didn’t roar. That would’ve been easier.
“After the night we shared,” he said quietly, “you still thought I wasn’t safe?”
Red crept up Talia’s neck and into her face. Shame and stubbornness tangled together.
“Trust isn’t earned in one night,” she said. “Not after the life we’ve had.”
Something in
