EMMA
Xerxes hadn't even noticed the bag clutched in my hand, his eyes were locked on my face. And when I really looked at him, I forgot my panic.
He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with heavy shadows. He hadn't slept in days. I didn't need anyone to tell me; it was written plainly on his face.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
My grip on the bag tightened instinctively, fingers aching around the straps. "I was just—"
He cut me off like a whip crack. "If I remember correctly, your room is in the opposite direction. And it's far too late for you to be wandering the corridors. So…" His voice lowered, sharp with suspicion. "What are you doing lurking around?"
As he spoke, his gaze flicked down the length of the hall, scanning like a predator ensuring there were no witnesses. Then his eyes snapped back to mine. He frowned and stepped closer, his imposing height forcing my chin upward.
