Alderin Duskbane

Cassidy

I returned to our room after the library.

But Kieran didn't.

Not that night. Not even after the moon rose so high it bled silver across our bed. I waited for the sound of the door. Waited for the weight of him, the scent, the comfort.

Nothing.

By morning, the ache of everything—Mara's betrayal, the dungeon, Kieran's rage—still clung to me like smoke. I dressed alone in silence, pulling on a soft black tank top and dark leggings. Practical. Efficient.

Not Mara's style.

She would've called it boring. Would've yanked open the wardrobe, grabbed something outrageous and made me spin while she clapped and said, "You're too pretty to dress like a potato sack, Cassidy"

I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out my hair she once used to braid. Once used to tug gently when I was late. When I was lazy. When I was hers.

A tight knot formed in my chest.

But I didn't cry.

I couldn't.