He moved like a shadow—no footsteps, just the whisper of wool against stone as he backed her into a shelf.
"You think this is a game?" Alaric's breath was winter-sharp. "Every word in this house is written in blood. Oaths. Curses. Your name."
Celeste tilted her chin up. "My name?"
A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a heartbeat, she thought he'd walk away. Instead, his grip tightened on her wrist. Not painful. Urgent.
"You look like her. Sound like her. But if you dig too deep, you'll wake what should stay dead."
She twisted free. "Then give me one reason not to burn this place to the ground."
His laugh was hollow. "Try. The flames won't touch it."