CHAPTER 67
The room felt too small. The air of the North Wing, usually so cold was suddenly thick with the heat radiating from Lucian's body.
His hand remained a heavy, grounding anchor on her shoulder, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to pull her closer but was forcing himself to stay back.
"Breathe, Isabella," he repeated, his gray eyes searching hers with a terrifying intensity. "You seemed to be gone. Your eyes were open, but your were frozen in state."
Isabella couldn't stop the trembling. The feeling of her doppelgänger passing through her like a winter draft still lingered in her chest, making her own skin feel like a costume she didn't fit into.
She looked down at the blackened, burnt-out halves of Clara's stone in her lap. They were cold now. No light or warmth coming from it.
"I saw... myself." Isabella whispered, her voice sounding like dry parchment. Lucian's looked confused at her words but he didn't ask if she was okay.
