Draven's Point Of View
The heat of the Texas morning was beginning to bake the gravel, but the air around us was absolute zero. I kept my hands on Seraphina's shoulders, feeling the tremors running through her like electrical currents. She was here. She was breathing.
The evidence stood before me, undeniable. Yet the puzzle pieces weren't fitting together, and I hated a messy board. Years of dealing with chaos had taught me that disorder meant danger.
"Are you fine?" I asked, my voice low, shedding the sharp edge I reserved for the guards. This wasn't an interrogation. I needed to hear it from her—needed the truth, not the brave face she wore for everyone else.
She nodded quickly, her forehead brushing against my suit jacket. The gesture was small, almost childlike, and it twisted something in my chest. "Yes. I am. I'm okay, Draven."
