Tomorrow evening arrived faster than I wanted it to.
I pulled my car up to Cyan's estate at ten to seven, idling by the waterfall. I expected him to take twenty minutes, but the front door opened almost immediately, and Cyan stepped out onto the front porch.
My hands froze on the steering wheel.
The pink hair was gone.
In its place was a deep, rich chestnut brown, styled so the top half was pulled back into a loose knot, leaving soft, dark strands framing his face and neck. He looked entirely different. The dark hair brought out the sharp lines of his jaw, the pale tone of his skin, and the striking, pale color of his eyes behind his thin metal glasses.
And then there was the outfit.
