Two nights. That’s all I managed before I found myself back at the door of 1127 Ashmore Street.
I told myself I wouldn’t come. That I’d left the envelope and the blindfold behind me. That I’d return to normal life — case files, early mornings, lonely nights with a glass of wine and the faint hum of the TV for company.
But normal felt like starvation now.
The echo of silk sliding over my eyes haunted me. The weight of his voice when he said awakening had carved itself into my bones. Every quiet hour since leaving the club had been filled with memory and need, and need was the stronger of the two.
So here I was again, my breath sharp in the night air, my hands trembling as I reached for the brass knocker.
The door opened before I touched it. Cassandra was waiting, her lips curving like
