Chapter 133
Vanya
The reporters erupted with questions, their voices a blur. Cameras zoomed, lights flashed, but Kross didn’t flinch. His eyes were sharp, his face carved from control, but I knew him enough to see the strain under it. The weight of what he carried. The loneliness of it.
And yet—he hadn’t come home.
I pressed my nails into my palm as a burn crawled up my chest. He could speak to me, claim me before the world, vow to lead with me… but here I was, watching him through a screen, aching for a glimpse, a touch, a word.
Did he know how much I missed him? Did he care?
The reporters smelled blood.
The conference, which had started steady, suddenly shifted like the tide turning, and their voices rose louder, sharper. They weren’t satisfied with polite statements about peace o
