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Alaric’s POV
The house was quiet, too quiet, as I sat in my office with a glass of whiskey that I hadn’t touched in over an hour. The amber liquid caught the dim light of the desk lamp, swirling lazily as if mocking my restless mind. Emilia was in the next room, probably pacing, possibly crying, but definitely not telling me everything she was thinking. That was the problem with her. She’d shoulder a world of burdens without letting anyone else carry even a fraction of the weight.
And it was killing me.
I heard the soft creak of the door opening, and when I looked up, there she was. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her face weary, but there was something very dull in her expression. She didn’t wait for me to invite her in—she rarely did these days. Instead, she closed the door beh
