The godswood was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the leaves and the low hum of dragonfire far in the distance. Aerion found her there his cousin, his sin standing by the heart tree, moonlight silvering her hair.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, not turning around.

“And yet,” Aerion replied, stepping closer, “neither should you.”

His voice carried that dangerous calm the kind that made her chest tighten. When he reached her, his hand brushed her arm, slow and deliberate, the touch of someone who knew exactly how forbidden it was.