Elowen

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I smoothed down the sleek, cool fabric over my hips and let out a soft breath.

It was Saturday evening, and the apartment had been unnaturally quiet all day. I hadn't seen a single trace of Zephyr since I woke up in the morning. The only proof that he even existed in my universe was the memory of him hearing him come through the front door late afternoon—slamming his bedroom door shut so hard the frame practically rattled on its hinges—and the lingering, terrifying memory of what had happened in the kitchen last night.

I leaned closer to the glass, tracing the...