The room was dark and silent except for the faint rustling of sheets. Camilla stirred, her lashes fluttering as she shifted onto her side, her body still warm from sleep. But something felt off.

She frowned, blinking against the dim lighting. Then, a sound—low, strained, almost a growl—cut through the quiet.

Her eyes snapped open fully this time.

Cyrus.

Her eyes widened as she turned to him, slowly her brows knitted as she watched him shift restlessly on the bed. His body was damp with sweat, his usually composed features twisted in raw torment. His lips parted, murmuring something incoherent at first, but then his voice sharpened into an agonized...