Sera’s POV
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like dying insects. I hadn’t moved from my chair in forty-seven minutes. My fingers were still curled around the pen I’d been pretending to use, ink bleeding into the corner of a report I hadn’t read.
Again.
The memory came without permission—Cassan’s mouth on the hollow of my throat, teeth grazing just hard enough to bruise, his voice splintering on my name like he was begging and cursing me at the same time.
“Sera—”
The way he’d shuddered when I dragged my nails down his back, marking him the way he used to mark me.
The way he’d looked at me afterward, eyes wet and wrecked, like he hated that I still owned pieces of him no one else could touch.
I pressed my thighs together under the desk. Hard.
It didn’t help.
The door
