ADRIAN'S POVEmma finally passed out just after midnight, tears still drying on her cheeks. Clara curled up beside her, whispering soft things until the kid’s breathing evened out. The house is quiet now, too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses on your chest after a day soaked in blood and screaming.I’m standing at the bedroom window, palms flat on the cold glass, staring at nothing. My knuckles are split. My shirt still smells like gunpowder and Lyra’s funeral pyre. I can’t get the image out of my head: her body going limp the second the silver bullet punched through her heart.The door clicks open behind me.Freya doesn’t speak. She just walks up, slides her arms around my waist from behind, and presses her face between my shoulder blades. I feel her inhale, long and shaky, like she’s trying to breathe me back into myself.“Emma sleeping?” My voice is gravel.“Yeah. Clara’s got her.” Her hands slip under my shirt, palms warm against the ridges of my stomach. “Come to bed, Adrian.
Last Updated : 2025-12-12 Read more