CELESTE’S POV
The familiar smoked-glass coffee table stood before me. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed dark cliffs.
The fireplace crackled softly to my right, its warmth unable to penetrate the ice flooding through my veins.
My hands were clenched in the cushions so tightly that my nails had torn through the leather.
For a long moment, I could not breathe. I could not understand.
Then I saw them.
Ethan stood near the windows, shoulders squared, jaw rigid, the light carving harsh lines across his face.
Not the younger version outside my door. Not the indulgent brother who rolled his eyes and dismissed Sera as a nuisance.
His expression held none of that easy fondness, only the exasperation and frustration he’d begun to reserve solely for me.
Kieran stood by the fireplace, his posture straight and immovable, that same coldness and condemnation shining in his eyes.
Sera stood slightly behind him, fingers interlaced with his, her face unreadable.
