|Serena's POV|
The penthouse is silent, the kind of heavy quiet that wraps around my ribs and presses in until I feel like I can't breathe properly—not because there's not enough air, but because I don't know what to do with all the space he's not in.
Gryphon's scent still clings faintly to the throw blanket on the edge of the sofa, like leather and nightfall and a warning. I haven't moved it. I haven't moved much all day, if I'm being honest. After I got back from the club, I went straight to my room, stripped out of that ridiculous dress that Beatrice picked like she was choosing a knife for me to bleed from, and sat under the hottest shower the marble bathroom could offer, trying to wash off a night I didn't even want to attend.
The water didn't help. Nothing ever really does.
I sit
