This must be a joke.
Eyrx's silver eyes widened, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and frustration.
For a moment, he just stared at her, waiting—waiting for her lips to curve into that teasing smirk, waiting for her to say she was just messing with him.
But she didn't.
Instead, she held Vanora tighter, pressing herself further against the wall, her brown eyes filled with wariness.
Fear.
Eyrx's fingers twitched.
His lips pressed into a tight line as a dark, ugly feeling coiled in his chest.
She didn't remember him.
She really didn't remember him.
His body stiffened, the sharp sting of ice spreading from his fingertips to his chest, freezing something deep inside him.
For days, he had watched over her, tended to her, kept her alive when she hovered at the brink of death. And yet—
Yet now she looked at him like a stranger.
Eyrx hated that look.
"You really don't remember," his voice dropped, cold and edged with something dangerous.
