Malion stopped walking.
His gaze locked onto the half-open gate.
Onto her.
And the fury that rose in his eyes was not loud.
It was silent.
Slow.
A storm in the shape of a man.
"Aurelia," he said again—soft, dangerous. "Come. Here."
Her breath trembled.
His eyes sharpened.
"You should not be out here," he said. "Not tonight… of all nights."
Aurelia swallowed.
She stumbled backward on instinct, colliding with the half-open gate behind her. Her breath tore jagged from her throat. Her fingers clawed for balance.
His gaze lowered to the gate. Something darkened in him, slow, brewing, inevitable.
"Aurelia," he said again, and the softness in his tone was worse than shouting. "Come. Here."
Her pulse hammered. Her vision blurred at the edges. There was something wrong with this. Wrong with him. He was too still. Too silent. Too…
Her chest squeezed painfully, like invisible hands pressed inside her ribs.
