A SOFT KNOCK.
Mailah's breath stopped mid-inhale.
She didn't move at first—didn't dare. The single, polite tap echoed through the hallway like the universe inhaling with her. Shadows stretched toward the door as if expecting someone. As if he stood on the other side.
Her heart climbed into her throat.
Grayson.
It had to be him.
Who else knocked like the night itself asking permission to enter?
She crossed the hallway slowly, pulse steadying into a hopeful, reckless rhythm. She smoothed her hair. Wiped her palms on her robe. Took one last breath she wanted him to steal from her.
Mailah opened the door—
—and all hope instantly withered.
"Wow," Lucien said, taking in her expression with a dramatic wince. "Try not to look too disappointed."
Mailah stared at him. "You're not Grayson."
Lucien placed a hand over his chest, feigning injury. "I am wounded. Mortally. Someone summon a healer."
"You'll live."
"Unfortunately."
