.
.
.
I should have left.
I should have run the moment I broke free from his grip, when the firelight flickered over his face and I saw the dark certainty in his eyes.
But I stayed.
Maybe it was guilt.
Maybe it was fear.
Or maybe it was the foolish hope that if I stayed just a little longer, Cyprus would realize the truth—realize that love couldn't be forced, that whatever he thought we had was already broken beyond repair.
The night stretches on in suffocating silence. Cyprus doesn’t speak again, but his presence is impossible to ignore. Even without words, I can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against me, heavy and unrelenting.
I curl up against the cold wooden floor, staring at the dying embers in the hearth. My body is exhausted, but sleep refuses to come. Every ti
