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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE ROOM FELT strange without him.

Not just quiet, empty, like something important had been taken out and the space hadn’t figured out how to fill it yet. I wasn’t alone. I knew that. But with him gone… I felt it anyway.

I blinked into the soft gray morning light, the shadows stretching long and lazy across the floor. It spilled through the edges of the curtain, catching on the dust in the air. He was gone. But the ghost of him hadn’t left.

I sat up slowly, the sheets cool where Mystic had been. My body protested the movement, still acting stubborn at times. The space beside me was nothing but air now, but I could still feel him there, the way his warmth had settled around me in the dark, how our breathing had matched in rhythm like we were one.

I reached over, smoothing the wrinkled blanket where he’d laid. It was still dipped from his weight, and for a moment I imagined pressing my palm there might bring him back. My fingers curled into the fabric, clutching it like it could fill the empty part of my chest.

Swinging my legs over the edge, I pressed my feet to the wooden floor. It was cold, rough against my skin, grounding. I needed grounding.

I was better now. Stronger. Every day, my body healed a little more. My voice had returned, though it still rasped when I spoke too much. The bruises had turned yellow, then green, and finally disappeared.

But the scars inside me? They stayed.

So did the questions.

My hand felt Mystic’s sweatshirt, still wrapped around me like a blanket. I should’ve returned it. It wasn’t mine. Instead, I drew it tighter around me, burying my nose in the collar, letting the scent of him settle over me. Leather and sandalwood. Warmth and something wild underneath it all. The smell of safety in a world where I’d come to only know danger.

My muscles were tight as I crossed the room. I needed to move, to do anything that might shake the storm building in my chest.

His room was simple. Clean but lived in. No mess, no clutter. Not like the places I’d seen in Dragon Fire’s world. There, filth clung to everything, inside and out. But here… Mystic’s space was different. The scuffed floorboards, the dark curtains, the worn chair in the corner—it was all functional, all quiet. Like him.

But something was missing.

There was nothing that told me who he was.

Until I saw it.

A small wooden box. Tucked neatly on the shelf beside the bed, half in shadow. It wasn’t fancy—just a plain thing, unmarked. But it stood out. Not because of what it was, but because of what it might hold.

I took a slow step toward it, heart thudding. Hesitated.

Mystic wasn’t careless. He didn’t just leave things out. If it was here, in the open… maybe it wasn’t a secret.

But my gut told me otherwise.

I reached out, brushing the surface with my fingertips. The wood was smooth, cool to the touch, like stone that had been worn down over time. A shiver chased up my spine.

Whatever was inside… it was his. A piece of him he hadn’t shared. A piece I didn’t know if I had a right to see.

My hand hovered for a breath longer. Curiosity itched in my palms, curling like a fist in my belly.

But I pulled back.

I wouldn’t open it.

I couldn’t. He had trusted me in his space. Trusted me enough to sleep beside me, to let me in even if only halfway. I wouldn’t betray that, no matter how badly I wanted to know him deeper. To understand the silence in his eyes.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and stepped away, curling the sweatshirt tighter around me like a shield.

I wasn’t going to break his trust.

But God… I wanted to know to what was inside.