Ashen pushed open the chamber door with a quiet creak, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the night.
The brazier had burned low, casting a warm, flickering gold across the bed where Lumina lay. She was curled on her side, facing away from him, the silk sheet tangled around her hips. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow like spilled ink, and even from the doorway he could see the faint sheen of dried tears on her cheeks, the way her lashes clung together in damp spikes.
The sight twisted something deep in his chest guilt, possession, a fierce, aching love that had never quite learned to be gentle.
