In the dim light, she looked incredibly peaceful. The sharp, guarded expression she always wore was gone. But beneath the peace, the exhaustion was still evident in the faint shadows under her eyes and the slight slump of her shoulders.
She looked entirely drained.
Alaric leaned in slightly, studying her face.
Then, his heart gave a sudden, heavy thud.
A single teardrop was slowly falling down her cheek, glistening in the moonlight before disappearing near her jaw.
Alaric stilled completely.
Was she crying?
The untouchable, hollow heiress who didn't blink when threatened, who didn't break when hated—was crying alone in the dark.
He stared at the teardrop, a strange, unfamiliar tightness wrapping around his chest. He had spent weeks trying to find a crack in her armor, wanting to see her break.
But seeing it now didn't feel like a victory.
It felt dangerous.
Slowly… without making a single sound… Alaric reached down.
