Mordred's PoV:
The safe house felt like a tomb that night—cold and empty with the kind of silence that presses in on you until it hurts to breathe.
I paced the living room like a caged animal, boots scuffing the hardwood and the echo mocking me with every step.
The lights were off, but the city glow seeped through the blinds in sickly stripes, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls.
I couldn't sit. Couldn't think straight. All I could do was to replay the scene at Pearl Street over and over, a nightmare loop that clawed at my insides.
Kianna, my Kianna—bursting through that door, her face crumbling like I'd taken a hammer to her heart.
