In the stillness of the room, Zion was lost in his deep thoughts, and the rhythmic sound of a wall clock ticking was audible.
At this late hour of night, the academy grounds had long since fallen into silence, but his own mind refused to stay calm. He felt frantic, like a bird trapped in a cage, fluttering against the bars out of desperation.
His cold, amber red eyes drifted towards his right hand, while he continued tracing the lines of his palm in the dim light of the room.
This was the hand that had held Earl earlier, but a phantom warmth still clung to his skin. It was similar to a stubborn heat that defied every medical term he had ever been explained until now.
And that was supposed to be impossible in the first place.
For all his life, ever craving someone's body warmth by touching them had felt like a distant dream for him.
