Page 51 of Mystic's Sunrise

Mystic was rough edges and silent strength. A man who could break me apart but chose not too.

My eyes drifted to the sweatshirt slung across the chair. His sweatshirt. Just like the one I wore now, soft and worn against my skin.

I closed my eyes, but again, sleep wouldn’t come.

Not with the whisper worming its way deeper.

Maybe he holds back because of what was done to you.Maybe he sees you the way you were forced to be — dirty, broken, used.

I clutched the edge of the blanket tighter.

He carried something heavy in his eyes. A wound he didn’t show anyone.

And tonight—before Devil’s knock—I saw it again. That hesitation. That restraint. I didn’t know for certain what it meant. But I knew this, Mystic was holding back.

I turned onto my side again, curling smaller into the hollow of the mattress, into the place he had left behind. Wishing for Lucy. Wishing for someone to tell me that wanting something more was okay. But all I had was the quiet sound of the night, the memory of his touch, and the heavy ache of all the words I wanted to say.

Somewhere between wishing and breaking, I drifted. Not into real sleep—but into something heavier. Something deeper. The lines between dream and memory blurred.

I was standing outside, barefoot, the earth cool beneath my toes. The sky stretched wide and endless overhead, scattered with stars sharp enough to cut.

I turned, and he was there.

He stood a few steps away, his body half-shadow, half-moonlight. The scars on his face caught the silver glow, turning him into something out of a story I was told as a child.

But he wasn’t distant. He wasn’t unreachable.

He wasmine.

He reached for me—no hesitation, no fear. His hand brushed my cheek, rough and careful, and I leaned into it, needing the touch like I needed air.

"You’re not broken," he whispered, voice rough like gravel, like truth. "You’remine."

I tried to speak, but no sound came. Only the wild beat of my heart against the cage of my ribs.

I pressed my palm to his chest, feeling the steady, strong rhythm there. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, my world felt complete.

It felt likehome.

I clung to him, desperate to stay in this moment, but the dream slipped like smoke between my fingers.

I woke with a soft gasp, the air thick against my skin. Mystic’s bed cradled me still, his scent wrapped around me, the imprint of his touch burning against my cheek.

I pressed my hand there, closing my eyes tight against the sudden sting.

He wasn’t mine.

Not yet.

But God, I was already his.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I SHOULD’VE BEENpaying attention.

Devil’s voice rumbled through the room, as the brothers sat around the table, some leaning back in their chairs, others with their elbows planted firmly on the surface. The meeting had been called to handle business, but my mind was somewhere else.

Always with her.