Page 131 of Mystic's Sunrise

The silence that followed wasn’t hesitation. It was acknowledgment. That this wasn’t a mission anymore. It was war.

Devil gave a single nod, but I was already gone.

Already lost in the dark, because I knew exactly what she was facing, and I’d thought I knew what hell felt like. I’d lived through it before, but this—this was worse.

This was hell, and I was still breathing.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

SHE SAT ONthe edge of the bed, silent. Her spine was straight,shoulders level, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her head bowed slightly, dark lashes lowered just enough to keep me from seeing what lived behind her eyes. She knew better than to let me see too much. She was still, composed, careful. Everything I expected her to be.

Everything she had once been, and I was going to make damn sure she remembered exactly what that meant.

The room was thick with quiet. Only the buzzing of the overhead light filled the space as I shut the door behind me, thesoftclickof the lock a sound I’d grown to love. No windows. No clocks. No exits. Just us, like it was always meant to be.

She didn’t move as my boots struck the hardwood floor, each step deliberate, heavy enough to fill the silence. I took my time crossing the room, letting the tension build in the air between us. Her body didn’t flinch, but I could sense the static underneath her skin, the effort it took for her to remain composed, knowing I was watching her from behind.

“You’re such a good girl.”

The words came easy, rolling off my tongue like smoke, curling slow and thick around the space between us. I watched the way her shoulders didn’t twitch, the way her jaw didn’t clench. She was trying. I’d give her that.

Still, something was off. A coolness. A barrier.

She was here, but not all the way.

I stepped in closer, the heat of my presence folding over her like a second skin. My fingers slid into her hair, combing it back gently so I could see the soft line of her jaw. She still wore the scent I remembered, lavender, faint warmth, something uniquely her. But now it was tainted. Beneath it lingered something else.

Was it a trace of him? That scarred fucker?

I let my hand trail down her cheek, savoring the feel of her skin. Warm. Steady. Too steady.

“I know this isn’t easy,” I said, voice even, too calm. “It’s an adjustment, I get that. But this—us—this isn’t new. This is just you… remembering what you forgot.”

Her head dipped slightly in acknowledgment. Not too slow, not too quick. Just right.

But I’d heard her.

That night, after I brought her back, when she’d finally passed out in my bed, I stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. The light from the hallway cast her face in pale gold. Herlips parted. Her body relaxed into the sheets like it had always belonged there.

And then… she said it.

His name.

Mystic.

Barely a whisper. Barely a breath.

But it made me furious.

She didn’t even know she said it, but I’d heard it, and I wasn’t about to forget.

That was when I knew, this wasn’t just about her running. It was about something worse. She’d let him in. She’d let himtouchsomething inside her.

And now, I was going to take it back.

I turned away just long enough to unzip my cut and toss it onto the chair in the corner. Then I poured myself a drink, the bite of whiskey grounding me as I stared at her from across the room. She didn’t look up. Didn’t dare. She knew I was pissed about something.

She remembered the rules. She’d always remembered. She just forgot how good she had it.