Vows of Graphite and Guilt
He radiated a quiet, suffocating gravity that made it hard to draw a full breath.
Julian reached out, his long, elegant fingers catching the beam of her flashlight. "Show me what's in the bag."
"It's just my personal belongings. My laptop. Some conservation tools," she lied, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the leather strap.
Julian’s eyes, a piercing, metallic charcoal, finally caught the light. There was no warmth in them. Only a cold, calculating intelligence that seemed to read her biology—the spike in her heart rate, the tremor in her hands, the sweat dampening her collarbone.