Dante’s POV
The entire packhouse was quiet at this time of the night.
Amaya was standing only a few feet away, staring at the moon. She hadn’t spoken since we stepped into the garden, and as strange as it might sound, I desperately wanted to hear her voice.
Say something. Anything.
But all I got in return was more silence as she wrapped her arms loosely around herself.
A soft wind blew, brushing her hair over her face, and she shivered a little. Instinctively, I took a step forward—but then she sighed, and my hand froze midair before I curled it into a fist and retracted it to my side.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she brushed the hair out of her face and tucked some strands behind her ear.
This moment reminded me of the first time I saw her—except now, almost a decade had passed, and everything had changed.
Back then, she was a spoiled princess, as Cyrus had claimed.
Now… she looked exhausted.
“She’s still so beautiful,”Mako murmured.
I know.
She
