When Hazel finally emerged from Jamal’s room, her footsteps were silent on the plush carpet. She had spent an hour rocking the boy, whispering promises into the darkness until his breathing slowed and his grip on his teddy bear loosened. She felt drained, her spirit pulverized by the jagged edges of the confrontation in the West Wing.
She walked back to her suite, her body feeling heavy, as if the very air of the manor had turned to lead. She expected to find Jace still there, pacing like a caged predator or perhaps waiting to hurl one last insult to reclaim his pride.
But when she pushed the door open, the room was empty.
The silence was absolute. Jace was gone, and more tellingly, so was the cardboard box. He had taken Layla’s things the photos, the trinkets, the remnants of his forme
