Theron’s POV
The next morning bled into existence, a slow, reluctant unveiling of the world outside the heavy stone walls of the mansion. Long before the first sliver of sun dared to peek over the horizon, an unwelcome restlessness stirred within me. It was a familiar companion these past weeks, a knot of anxiety tightening its hold with each passing night. Sleep, once a sanctuary, had become a battlefield of shadows and echoes, the phantom weight of her pain a constant pressure in the stillness.
I hadn't intended to seek her out again. Logic, the stern voice I usually heeded, insisted she needed rest, undisturbed peace to mend the invisible wounds that clung to her like a shroud. Yet, an instinct primal and insistent tugged at me, a desperate need to confirm her well-being, to steal a fleeting glimpse of her before the day’s demands and pretenses began.
Barefoot, I navigated the hushed corridors, the cool stone a stark contrast to the feverish unease within me. Each step was delibera
