Alina’s POV

The mug of coffee in my hands had gone cold long before Adrian left. I hadn’t taken a single sip. It wasn’t about the taste—it was the weight. The ceramic felt too heavy, the smell too sharp, the heat that had once risen from it already faded, leaving nothing but lukewarm disappointment.

I set it on the counter and watched the steamless surface ripple when I pushed it slightly. That tiny disturbance felt like me. A little nudge and I was trembling, my edges breaking into waves.

Dante’s arms still lingered around me, his chin brushing my shoulder. He hadn’t let go since Adrian walked out, and part...