Jason sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, Kaelen’s note folded and unfolded again between his fingers. He had read it five times, maybe six, the words already etched in his brain. Still, he couldn’t make himself put it down.
Another knock came at the door. Firmer this time. No guessing needed. That voice—low and measured—belonged to Ivan.
Jason didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“Jason,” Ivan said again, not loud, but enough.
Something in the way his name sounded made his stomach twist. The bond—stupid, relentless thing—tightened like a leash. His legs moved without permission, dragging him forward before his thoughts could stop them.
He opened the door.
Ivan stood in the hallway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He wasn’t dressed in his usual sharp way—his shirt was rumpled, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. He looked like he hadn’t slept, but not from exhaustion. It was something deeper, something that didn’t show up in the mirror but wore you down from the
