My jaw was still on the floor.
"Read it to me."
The words didn't sound like an invitation. They sounded like a sentence.
I looked at the book in my hands. Leather-bound. Old. The cover was black, but not the black of ink. The black of a starless sky. Of something that had never seen light and resented it.
There was no title. Only a symbol burned into the center — a circle, bisected by a single, jagged line. Like a wound that refused to close.
My fingers were already cold.
"I—"
Draven's eyes were still closed, but his voice cut me off. "You opened it, little cub. You don't get to close it now."
He shifted against the headboard. The blankets pooled around his waist. He looked like he belonged to the bed, to the dark, to every nightmare the castle had ever spawned.
"Sit."
I didn't move.
"Sit here," he said, quieter. He patted the space between his knees.
My stomach dropped.
"Draven—"
