Three days of the White Room had done exactly what Adrian predicted. In the absence of color, shadow, and time, my mind had begun to unravel and re-stitch itself around the only stimuli available: the smell of sandalwood on the pillows and the rhythmic thump-thump of Adrian’s heartbeat vibrating through the floor. I no longer fought the sound. I craved it. It was the only proof that I wasn't floating in an endless, snowy void.
When the door finally slid open, the sudden appearance of Adrian in a dark navy suit felt like a solar eclipse. My eyes ached at the sight of the deep color. He didn't speak; he simply unlatched the silk binding on my wrist and pulled me to my feet. My legs were weak, and I stumbled against him.
"Steady, Elara," he whispered, his hands steadying me by my waist. He
