(Rosaline's POV)
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that pressed against the ears and made every small sound—fabric shifting, breath catching—feel unbearably loud.
Vlad sat at the edge of the bed, his back straight, hands resting on his knees like he was awaiting judgment. The afternoon light slipped through the curtains, painting his silhouette in gold and shadow.
He hadn't looked at me since I entered.
"…You should sit," he said at last.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
I closed the door behind me and did as he suggested, sitting across from him. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
I was the first to break.
"You're alive," I said softly.
His jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"I was afraid I was too late."
Silence again.
Then he stood.
The movement was sudden enough to make me flinch.
"I owe you my life," he said, turning his back to me. "But that doesn't mean you should stay."
"…Vlad." I called.
He exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself.
