It was Mordred Sinclair.
He stood right in front of me, tall and calm, his expression unreadable beneath the dim corridor light. My heart skipped, thudding hard against my ribs as our eyes met. Why is he here? And what the hell does he want from me?
"M-Mordred," I stammered, trying hard to sound welcoming."What are you doing here?"
He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that lazy half-smile that made every nerve in my body tremble.
"Relax," he said quietly. "I came to thank you."
"Thank me?" I echoed, almost sounding confused.
"For last night," he continued. "You took care of me when I was drunk. I don't remember much, but… I remember you."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small paper bag. I hesitated before taking it. Inside was a sleek bracelet—black leather with a silver charm shaped like a crescent moon.
"It suits you," he said, eyes flicking to my wrist where Lysander's bracelet already sat. "Guess you're collecting bracelets lately." he joked.
