A Crown of Ashes
Lila pushed the door—creaking, stiff—and stepped in, Sienna behind, Roman last, his shoulder brushing hers as he passed, and damn if it didn’t spark again—heat, want, regret—making her clench her fists.
Inside smelled of dust and pine—bare, a table, a cot, a locked box on a shelf—and Lila turned, eyes wet, holding out a key, small and silver. “For you,” she said, voice trembling, “he said it’s yours—everything he hid, everything he took.” She pressed it into Sienna’s hand—cold, heavy—and Sienna’s breath stopped, the vial burning in her pocket, the weight of it all crashing down.
Before she could speak, a shadow moved—quick, sharp—in the corner, and a voice—low, rough, male—cut through: “Lila
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