Serena
Nyla was still talking on the phone.
I was moving through the corridor of the upper floor with my shoes in my hand, phone pressed to my ear, heart doing something unsteady in my chest.
"Sera, your father's driver called the house line. He's coming back early. Something about the negotiations closing ahead of schedule," Nyla said, her voice tight with controlled panic.
"The guards didn't know where you were, and I covered, I said you were with me, but Sera, if he gets home before you—"
"I'm already leaving," I said.
"Where were you?"
"Nyla."
A pause. Then, quietly, "Okay. Just get home."
I ended the call and moved faster.
The corridor was empty, the event hall below still carrying the last sounds of the night winding down.
A few staff members moved through the lobby as I descended the back stairs.
The mask was still in my bag. I had taken it off somewhere between the room and the stairwell; I couldn't remember exactly when.
The morning air outside hit me cold and clear as I stepped out
I stood on the pavement for a moment, breathing it in, and tried to get my pulse under control.
"It was one night," I told myself. That was the agreement. One night, no names, and then you go back.
The Ironveil gates opened as my car approached, and the familiar weight of the manor settled across my shoulders the moment I stepped inside.
Nyla was waiting in the entrance hall. She looked at me once, top to bottom, with the particular expression she had perfected over our twelve years of friendship, and said nothing for a long moment.
Then she said, "Your hair."
"I know."
"And your—"
"I know, Nyla."
She handed me a glass of water and steered me toward the east wing stairs before any of the morning staff could see us properly. That was the thing about Nyla. She did not ask questions until you were in a place where the answers could not be overheard.
We reached my room, and she closed the door.
She sat on the chair by the window, folded her hands in her lap, and looked at me with her large, patient eyes.
"One night," I said, before she could ask. "And it is over."
She studied me.
"Was it at least worth it?" she said.
I sat on the edge of the bed, and the sheets at Mirewood flashed briefly in my mind: the red light, his hand finding me in the dark, his voice asking, 'Tell me something authentic,' the patient silver of his eyes.
'Stop this madness, Sera,' I internally berated myself
"It doesn't matter whether it was," I said.
Nyla was quiet for a moment. "Sera—"
"Father comes home today. I need to be dressed and downstairs by noon." I cut her off, stood up, and moved toward the bathroom. "Can you call Maren about my hair?"
She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded once and reached for her phone.
I closed the bathroom door and stood at the mirror.
The woman in the reflection looked like me. Same amber eyes, same jaw, same careful posture I had been wearing since I was twelve years old. But something was different, something I couldn't name and wouldn't try naming
I turned the tap on and let the water run
'It is over,' I told myself again.
I almost believed it this time, too.
Mystery Man
In the east tower of the Dusklow compound, a man stood at the window with his arms folded across his chest and looked at nothing in particular.
The room behind him was quiet.
The sheets were still faintly warm on one side. He had come out of the bathroom to find the room empty, her dress gone, her shoes gone, all of it gone, as though she had simply evaporated with the red of the moon.
Which had been the agreement, and He knew that.
He picked up his phone from the nightstand.
Three missed calls from Theo
One message: The Alpha Council meeting has been moved. Your father wants you back by noon. Don't be late this time, Caden
He read it once and put the phone face down.
He picked up the phone again.
He didn't ask for her name, and he was no longer sure it was the right choice.
By noon, I was dressed and downstairs, my hair pinned and my face arranged into the expression I got used to, the cold, indifferent look
My father arrived at twelve past twelve.
He walked through the doors, and he looked at me once and gave a single approving nod before handing his coat to the staff.
"We have an engagement to attend," he said.
"Father," I said. "Welcome home."
"The Vanthorpe negotiations concluded well." He said authoritatively. "Is there anything requiring my immediate attention?"
"No," I said.
He nodded again and moved past me toward his study.
I stood in the entrance hall after he disappeared, and the house settled back into its usual quiet around me.
I had a life to return to