The storm hit just after midnight.
It wasn’t weather—it was him.
Asher was waiting when I stepped into the private wing. No shackles. No guards. No one but the two of us and the weight of everything that had been building since the moment I stepped into his cell.
I should’ve run.
But I didn’t.
I closed the door behind me and let it lock.
Asher was by the window, arms braced against the frame, bare-chested, the lines of his back corded tight like a storm held barely in check. His wolf energy pulsed in the air like a live wire.
“You came,” he said without looking back.
“You asked.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I crossed the room, keeping my voice even. “You said you had more to tell me.”
“I do.” He turned then, eyes catching mine—dark gold and burning. “But it’s not something I ca
