The silence that filled the room that night wasn’t harsh—it wasn’t cold either—but it was heavy. Heavier than anger, heavier than tears. It wrapped around Lucien and me like a thick blanket, pressing down on our chests as we lay side by side, facing opposite directions on the bed we once couldn’t stay out of.

He hadn’t said anything after we got home. He didn’t ask any more questions about the rogues, or Damon, or what I had been doing out there alone.

He just watched me with a quiet kind of sadness in his eyes… and then went about undressing, slipping into bed without a word. Not even goodnight....