The morning after the celebration was quiet—unnaturally so.

Evelyn woke before dawn, the embers of yesterday’s strange encounter still smoldering inside her. She lay in bed for a long time, listening to Ronan’s breathing beside her—steady, warm, mortal. Each rise and fall of his chest grounded her, but did nothing to silence the faint hum beneath her own skin.

She hadn’t slept.

Not truly.

Each time she drifted near the edge of dreaming, something pulled her awake—a whisper, a ...