Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, far too bright for the way my chest felt—tight, heavy, like it hadn't let go of last night yet.
I blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling.
The room was quiet. My mother's perfume still lingered faintly on the pillow beside mine—warm, lavender and something like safety. She must have slipped out in the early hours, once she was sure I was asleep.
But even with her beside me, the nightmares still came.
The silver bindings.
Zevian's voice.
Andreis' blood-soaked shirt.
I sat up slowly, the duvet pooling around my waist. My body ached in strange places. Not pain, exactly—more like... aftershocks. Like I was still vibrating with whatever power had cracked through me last night. My hands trembled, and for a split second, I thought I saw a faint shimmer of gold in my reflection on the closet mirror.
Nope.
Not doing this now.
I climbed out of bed, grabbed a towel, and locked myself in the bathroom. The cold shower hit like ice, but I needed it. To ground myself. To rinse off the memories that clung like blood under my fingernails.
I didn't cry. Not because I wasn't close—but because I didn't want to give last night the satisfaction.
When I came down the stairs—hair damp, wearing one of Marco's oversized hoodies—I expected silence. Maybe tension.
What I didn't expect was the entire dining table to be full.
My parents. Marco. Andreis.
All seated like it was any other morning.
The smell of brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the air, but everything inside me twisted. Like I'd walked into a world that had decided to keep turning without me.
They all turned when I stepped in.
My father stood up first. "Good morning, sweetheart," he said, voice gentle but uncertain, like he wasn't sure which version of me he was speaking to now.
My mom offered a small smile from her place beside him. "There's tea. And eggs, if you're hungry."
Andreis didn't say anything.
But his eyes tracked every step I made.
Marco just stared at his plate.
"I... guess I'm hungry," I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be.
I sat down at the far end. My mother passed me a cup, and the warmth of the porcelain helped me feel... real. Present.
For a while, no one talked. Forks clinked. Chairs creaked. My heartbeat filled in the silence.
Then, my father cleared his throat.
"I want to talk about your internship."
I blinked. "Okay…"
"You don't have to go back immediately," he said. "But if you choose to continue, I'm assigning Andreis to stay with you. Every hour. Inside and outside the office."
I looked across the table at Andreis. His jaw was tight, but he nodded once. No protest. Just... acceptance.
Of course he knew. Of course they'd already decided.
Before I could respond, Marco cut in.
"No," he said, sharp. "She's not going back yet."
Dad's brow lifted. "Marco—"
"She just survived being kidnapped and nearly sacrificed on a damn altar. She needs rest. Not paperwork and boardrooms."
"She also needs normalcy," Andreis said calmly, not even looking at Marco. "And purpose. Sitting in this house for weeks won't give her either."
Marco scoffed. "You think dragging her back into the world she nearly died in is smart?"
"I think she gets to decide," Andreis replied.
That shut the room up.
Everyone turned to me.
The steam from my tea curled toward my face. I stared into the cup like it held the answer.
Did I want to go back?
I didn't know.
But I knew I didn't want to feel helpless. Or hidden. Or worse—forgotten.
"I'll think about it," I said quietly.
Marco didn't like it. I felt it through the room, in the tension that hung after my words. But for once, he didn't argue.
My father nodded. "Fair enough. Until then, Andreis and Marco will work here, from the house. You're not to be left alone."
I nodded, not because I liked it—but because I knew they wouldn't budge.
My eyes met Andreis' again. Something passed between us—unspoken, steady.
And for the first time since waking up, I didn't feel like I was falling.
Just… floating. Still shaken.
But afloat.