| Gryphon's POV |
I sit there for what feels like hours, but the sun outside the tall windows tells me it's been minutes—gold bleeding into white, the day already moving forward like nothing's happened. Like the world didn't tilt a little off its axis when I heard those words come out of Beatrice's mouth.
Use her.
God, I can still hear it. Still feel it. Like she branded it into my skin with that cold little smile.
I lean forward, elbows digging into my knees, palms dragging over my face again. My skin still smells faintly like Serena—warm, soft, real. Not perfume or perfection or plastic, but her. And I hate that even that feels wrong now. Like I should scrub her off me. Like wanting her is the same thing as taking her, the way her mother wanted me to.
Because this isn't just a mess
