The candlelight flickered, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the blade. The slender dagger gleamed faintly—black handle polished smooth, cold steel hungry for purpose.
Heath stood frozen above her, breath shallow and uneven, fingers tightening around the hilt until the knuckles whitened. His eyes locked on Valerie's sleeping form—so still, so impossibly serene. The faint rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her cheek against the pillow, the golden strands of hair spilling like liquid sunlight across the white linen.
For a moment, something like hesitation flickered through him.
He whispered, voice low and bitter.
"You should've stayed hidden… without showing forth your magic."
The words hung heavy in the stale air.
