I sat on the edge of the massive, expensive bed in my new room, clutching my phone like a lifeline. The West Wing was quiet—too quiet. It was the kind of silence that made you hear things that weren't there, like the ghost of Lucien’s cold voice or that weird, hateful growl I’d heard in my head earlier. I couldn’t just sit here and rot with my own thoughts. I needed a reality check. I needed Eliza.

I dialed her number, my fingers trembling slightly. I needed to vent. I needed to tell ...