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He shifts, pushing himself up further, the sheets sliding down his bare chest, revealing the marks I left on him.

Marks I don’t remember making.

His head tilts.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

I force a breath.

"Just tired."

A weak fucking lie.

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t press.

But I see the suspicion in his eyes.

See the way he’s watching me now, too carefully as if studying me.

Like he knows what I’m hiding.

I need to get out of here.

Now.

30

ZEPHIRAN

Something is wrong with her.

She thinks I don’t notice.

She thinks I’m blind to the way she moves differently now, the way her hands tremble when she thinks I’m not looking, the way her pulse jumps just beneath her throat.

But I notice everything.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

She’s hiding something big.

And worse—I don’t know if it has anything to do with the High Council, or the heist, or the fact that she just let me have her the way she swore she never would.

Or if it has to do with me.

With the curse.

With whatever the fuck she did when she bled for me.

The thought of not knowing is driving me insane.

We’ve been riding for hours, leaving the ruined vault and the High Council’s wrath far behind.

The wind is cold, cutting through the damp heat of the undercity’s outskirts, but she doesn’t shiver.

She just stares ahead, her fingers tight around the reins of her horse, her body too stiff, too tense.