Three in the morning. The night was still and silent.
The person on the sofa had been woken up by the noise. His face was heavy with sleep, but the moment his eyes met Silas Thorne's, they filled with surprise, scrutiny, and assessment, along with...
A trace of disdain and hostility.
Dolly, who had also been woken up, had already left her little den and was now by Joyce Monroe's side, rubbing against her leg.
"Weren't you supposed to come back in two days? Why are you back early?" Joyce Monroe asked, looking at the person on the sofa as she petted the dog.
The person had already stood up. Graymoor was located in the south, so even though it was October, it wasn't cold. It was the season for long sleeves, yet he was still in a T-shirt and baggy shorts. The skin on his neck and wrists was unevenly tanned.
His irises were amber, and his black hair was a messy bedhead, obscuring his eyebrows and eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he stared daggers at Silas Thorne...
