Freya’s POV

“I’m going to go,” Racheal said almost in a whisper, stumbling like a headless chicken as she slipped out of the room completely ignoring my question.

For the moment, I was graced with the sight of freshly-showered Artemis. His damp hair clung messily to his face, a towel draped casually around his neck. Droplets trailed down his skin, and the loose shirt he wore gave him a rugged, boyish look that shouldn’t have been legal.

As Racheal passed, he tilted slightly to the ...