GRAYSON EMERGED at the edge of the garden like the night had decided to shape itself into a man.
No announcement. No heavy footsteps. Just a shifting of shadow near the hedges—then the unmistakable outline of him stepping into lanternlight. The warm glow caught the hard angles of his face.
Mailah's stomach dropped.
Had he been there the whole time?
Her mind scrambled backward through everything she and Lucson had said—obsession, relocation, hunger, the warning that love could become a trap—and heat rushed to her cheeks as if the words themselves had been caught and held in the air between them.
Lucson, beside her, didn't look surprised.
And not even the least ashamed.
Grayson walked toward them with the steady, unhurried precision of someone who didn't need to raise his voice to make the world hold still.
He stopped close enough that Mailah could feel warmth radiating off him, as if he'd walked straight out of a fire rather than a hedge-lined path.
