Kenna

Evander shuts the door. The lock clicks, and for a moment, the only sound I can hear is my heartbeat racing in my own ears.

He looks… conflicted. Unsure–and unsteady.

“You–you smell like vanilla candles,” I whisper, unsure if I say the words out loud or only in my head.

But he looks at me, holding my gaze. “I do?” he asks quietly, his voice taking on a tone I’m not accustomed to. It’s softer than before, less on edge.

I nod, finding it impossible to swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

“Why?” I ask, because it’s the only word frantically bouncing around my skull.

“Why do...