Petal's Pov

The morning after Aslaan’s warning came cold and silent.

When I stepped outside my tent, frost still glittered on the grass, and the air carried a tension I couldn’t name. Every sound the creak of leather, the whistle of the wind felt sharper, waiting.

He was already waiting at the edge of the clearing.

Barefoot, bare-chested, he looked carved from the morning itself unforgiving and beautiful. His hair was damp from washing, his breath curling in the cold air.

“You’re ...