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It wasn’t like I was going to fall in love with him. This would just be a fling. A fleeting romance. A way to write my scenes, prepare myself for my mate, and let Devlin experience dating.

Three birds. One stone.

My heartbeat quickened as I climbed out of bed and hurried over to the full-length mirror, giving myself a once-over. My pajamas were a cute little set, hugging my curves in all the right places. They were a little snug on my hips—unsurprising, considering I hadn’t worn them in nine years—but I’d always been proud of the soft curve of my stomach. And I’d definitely caught Devlin’s eyes lingering on it at breakfast yesterday.

My bedhead, however, was an absolute disaster. It took forever to comb through the knots, but finally, my dark mane flowed smoothly down my back. I even tucked my hair behind my ears instead of my usual habit of letting it curtain my face, a flimsy attempt at hiding from the world.

I reached for my hoodie—the trusty old thing that had been my shield for as long as I could remember—then paused. I was about to ask Devlin if he would consider dating me. If I had my hoodie, I knew I’d shrink into it, use it as a barrier, let it swallow me up the moment I lost my nerve.

Not this time.

After brushing my teeth and giving myself one last check in the bathroom mirror, I took a deep breath and headed downstairs, my heart pounding harder with every step.

The confidence I’d built up about asking Devlin out evaporated instantly when I poked my head into the kitchen. He sat at the table, his gaze locked on the window, staring out toward the edge of the forest. His chin rested on his palm, his teeth chewing at the nail of his ring finger, his jaw tense, browsfurrowed in deep thought. His leg bounced erratically under the table, his entire body contracted tight with worry.

Something had him on edge.

“Um, Devlin?” I asked hesitantly.

His eyes snapped to mine immediately, widening as they scanned me from head to toe—before his features settled back into anxious distress.

Suddenly, I felt ridiculous for coming downstairs in such a skimpy pajama set. I resisted the urge to bolt back to my room, grab my trusty hoodie, and wrap myself in its safety.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Devlin chewed nervously on his bottom lip, then gestured at the seat across from him.

I sat down, my pulse ticking faster, and as I moved, a loose strand of hair slipped from behind my ear, falling over my face. Devlin’s hand twitched forward, reaching as if to tuck it back into place, but then he caught himself and pulled away, his fingers curling into a fist on the table instead.

“You’re worrying me, Devlin,” I said quietly.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever the hell was wrong with him.

His features softened, the tautness in his shoulders loosening just slightly. “Sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean to.”

My brows furrowed. “What’s happened?”

His lips pressed together, his jaw ticking as if he were debating something internally. Finally, he let out a slow breath and said, “Last night, I went for a stroll through the forest.”

“Okay...” I said slowly, having no idea where this was going.

“And... when I got back...” His voice faltered. A moment later, his hands disappeared beneath the table, and when they resurfaced, they held a tattered paper folder. Without a word,he set it in front of me, sliding it across the smooth wood with careful deliberation.

My stomach turned to stone.

I pushed it back toward the center of the table, away from me.

Devlin’s eyes flicked between me and the file.

“Did you read it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my gaze fixed on my fingers as they twisted together in my lap, bracing myself for his answer.

“No, of course not, Jen,” he said quickly, his voice pleading.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “It’s just... I don’t know. Why would someone leave the files to your parents’ case at your door? Presumably, you’ve already seen the contents?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. My arrest had been a blur—the evidence shown to me only briefly, more of a formality, given that I had admitted to what I’d done. I remembered seeing the reports and only a few of the crime scene photos before I’d had to look away, unable to stomach the sight of my parents’ bodies.

Devlin’s voice cut through the haze. “So, what’s the point of sending them to you anonymously?”