A Dagger and a Desperate Plea

VANESSA

I woke to the sun spilling across my hotel room, disoriented for a moment before remembering where I was. The clock read 6:15 AM—nearly two hours before the prison visiting hours began. Despite the full night's sleep, exhaustion still clung to me like a second skin.

Roman had tried to stay with me last night after dinner. His offer was gentle, tentative.

"I could just stay, keep you company," he'd said, standing awkwardly in my doorway. "No expectations."

Lyra, my wolf, had practically howled her approval at the suggestion. But I'd shaken my head.

"I need space tonight," I told him, watching disappointment flicker across his face before he masked it. "But thank you."

Now, I regretted that decision. The bed had felt too big, too empty, and my dreams had been filled with shadowy figures wielding silver daggers.

The knock on my door came just as I finished dressing.

"Breakfast downstairs," Roman called through the door. "We should leave by seven-thirty."