EMMA
I didn’t sleep.
Not really.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, Damien’s words looping through my mind like a bad echo I couldn’t shut off. If I go down… I won’t go alone. Every creak of the estate sounded louder, sharper. Every shadow felt deliberate. And worse than Damien—worse than the scratching, the howls, the secrets—was the way Gabriel had looked when Damien spoke his name earlier.
Not anger.
Control.
The kind that came from holding something back with both hands and clenched teeth.
By morning, I was done pretending.
I found Gabriel on the lower terrace just after dawn. Snow dusted the stone balustrades, untouched except for his boot prints. He stood with his back to me, shoulders tense beneath his coat, staring out at the forest like it had personally offended him.
