The next day,

Aria

The morning light hit my eyelids like a serrated blade. I bolted upright, my breath hitching in a throat that felt like it had been scrubbed with sand.

The memory of the steam, the scent of cedar and rain, and the crushing weight of a tattooed chest against mine were so vivid I could still feel the phantom heat of his skin.

Then I blinked.

The sandalwood was gone. The marble was gone. I was in my own room, the heavy velvet curtains of the Blackwood estate swaying in the frigid morning breeze.

The silence of the manor was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic ticking...