Valka
Guilt is an unbelievably heavy emotion. Now that Ilya isn't trying to kill me with the distance, all I can think about is Malachy, and how heartbroken he must have felt when I didn't show up to his pack. Knowing him, he's probably tearing the world apart looking for me.
And what do I do? Hide. Like a coward.
My bedroom looks exactly as I left it, untouched except for the quiet ways Lucien prepared for a future I never returned to. The wardrobe is fuller. The glass boxes in the corner are sealed with ribbon, their handwritten notes browned and curled from time. I don't open them. I know if I let myself touch even one, I'll never be able to walk out of this place again.
On the fourth day of self-imposed exile, a sound like thunder shakes me awake. Boots slamming against marble, sharp orders barked into the air. Startled and bleary-eyed, I stumble into the hallway.
