IRIS

The moment the door creaks open, my heart twists into a knot. Darian steps inside, slow, cautious. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but also something softer, concern, maybe? Or fear? I don’t care. Not now.

“Iris,” he says quietly, voice low, like he’s stepping on fragile glass, and it makes my chest tighten.

I push myself up on trembling arms, every movement a jolt of pain, but I don’t care. I want this fight, need it, because it means I’m still here, still alive, still furious.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand, voice sharp, slicing through the still air.

“Tell you what?” Darian asks, brow furrowing.

“That...