Ryder’s POV

I smelled her before I stepped into the library—that refreshing mix of fresh herbs, wildflowers, and morning air that belonged to spring alone. Normally, her scent calmed me, like new grass after rain. But tonight, there was something sharp under it, almost metallic, like crushed nettle. Distress. Pain.

She was standing motionless by the window when I entered, a roll of parchment clenched in both hands. Sunlight cut across her cheek, but she looked pale anyway.

“Baby,” I ...