ADAM
The walls between the banquet hall and this smaller reception chamber weren't thick enough to block the noise of celebration, but they blurred it into something distant and strange—laughter reduced to a muffled hum, music softened into a ghostly echo.
The air was heavier here, warmer, carrying the sweet bite of wine and the lingering scent of roasted meats. A faint curl of smoke from the hearth reached me, earthy and familiar.
I lounged back in the high-backed chair, one ankle crossed over my knee, goblet balanced in my hand. My fingers traced the polished stem slowly, over and over. The firelight danced in restless shapes, licking up the blackened logs, and I found myself watching it the way one might watch a dangerous animal—entranced and wary.
The flames reminded me of her.
Dora. A false name, but it was all I had of her.
Dora. Reckless. Bold. Infuriating.
