Eight

Eira's pov

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the silence.

Not the eerie kind that hung like a threat in Draven's mansion. This one was… different. A stillness that felt untouched. The sheets beneath me were clean, crisp. The air was scented faintly with eucalyptus. No chains. No guards. Just a dim room with pale curtains fluttering slightly from a cracked window.

I sat up slowly, every limb aching like I'd run for miles and lost a fight to the wind itself. My throat burned, my head throbbed, and my heart,my heart was drumming a panicked rhythm against my ribs.

Where the hell am I?

The last thing I remembered was… falling.

Falling into Draven's arms. Screaming that I didn't need him. That I'd burn the world without him.

And then,darkness.

I swung my legs over the bed and scanned the room.

Sterile. Minimalistic. Clean. But not cold.

This wasn't his mansion.

It wasn't any place I'd ever been.