Anabelle stayed in the doorway, her breath frozen in her throat.

Ezra was too close to Nephtar.

The dark study threw ugly shadows against the walls, snagging on the gold filigree of Nephtar's clothing. Her cloak draped in a slime-worn heap on the ground. Her shoulders bare. Her back curved ever so slightly. Ezra's hand hovering inches from her waist—to be touching and yet too close to make any kind of sense.

The silence stretched.

Ezra turned slowly. His face, so typically inscrutable, ...