Xaden was waiting for her—he always was. Either for the day he could finally see her again or for the moment she would let him in. Even now, when she was still furious over his secrets, he waited. He couldn’t help it. He wanted her, needed her. He loved her. And yet, she had rejected him. He didn’t blame her—he never would—but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The sting of her anger, her distrust, was a wound that refused to heal.

Still, there was one thing he was grateful for. Thanks to the unbreakable bond between their dragons, they were forced to see each other regularly. And, of course, there was his revolution—another tie that kept her in his orbit, even if she resisted it.

He sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his damp hair. His private quarters were a luxury, complete with his own bathroom, a privilege not many had. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt after training, and his muscles, still slick with sweat, ached from exertion. But the exhaustion that weighed on him had little to do with physical strain. It was her absence that drained him most.

For a long moment, he let himself sink into his thoughts, his mind replaying memories of her—of the way she looked at him before everything fell apart, before she saw him as a traitor. But then, abruptly, the door to his room swung open, pulling him from his thoughts.

She stood there, her usual scowl in place, but something was wrong. He saw it immediately. Her shoulders were tense, her breaths uneven, and her entire body seemed moments away from collapsing. She looked utterly exhausted, like she was barely holding herself together.

Xaden was on his feet in an instant, closing the space between them, though not too much—he knew better than to push too far. His voice was low, urgent. “Are you okay? What happened? Did someone hurt you?”