Wyatt’s POV

“What are you doing here, Wyatt?” Priscilla asked, standing in the threshold between the hallway of her Highrise and the interior of her apartment. With the back of her hand, she tried to rub the redness from her eyes.

For once, Priscilla’s hair was loose, cascading down her back in a waterfall of obsidian. He had only ever seen her with it up, pulled into a tight bun with no flyaway in sight. Pressed and prim in elegant footwear and buttoned ...