Eve's POV
Three months.
It had been three months since the Conclave gavel came down and Vassin's voice filled the hall and everything Malachai had built for twenty years started coming apart at the seams.
Three months of waking up in the same bed every morning and not having anywhere to be except here. Three months of the pack settling around her like it had always known she belonged in it. Three months of Damian's coffee already made when she came downstairs and Damon stealing from her plate and Silas appearing in doorways without knocking because he never needed to.
Three months of something that felt dangerously close to ordinary.
She should have been grateful for it.
She was grateful for it.
But something was wrong.
It had started small.
