(Aurelia's POV)
The shower was loud.
I stood under the hot water and let it run until the drain turned clear, washing away days of desert grit and dried blood.
When I finally stepped out and faced the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
Clean. Finally clean.
My eyes looked different without the dust coating them. Steadier. More awake.
On the edge of the sink sat a set of car keys.
Caelan had set them there without a word before stepping into the bathroom. No explanation. No instruction.
But I understood.
He wasn't going to leave without me knowing.
I stared at my reflection for a long moment.
He was my way out. The first real one I'd ever had. Not a dream, not a plan scrawled in the margins of borrowed books - a real, breathing chance standing right in front of me.
I didn't care what else he carried inside him, or who else might already live there.
I just needed a door. He was the door.
My reflection stared back at me, steady and certain.
I wasn't afraid.
The only thing burning in my chest was want.
The sandstorm had driven half the territory's travelers into Ashford at once, and every inn in town had filled up within hours.
We got the last room.
After I came out of the bathroom, Caelan was already sitting against the headboard, pulling a black phone from his pack. The moment the screen lit up, it started vibrating - message after message, rapid and relentless.
I curled under the blanket and said nothing.
I just watched him.
The blue light from the screen moved across his face, and I saw the color drain out of it, slowly, like water pulling back from shore. Something in his posture changed. The air around him grew heavier, pressing down on the whole room.
I didn't know what the messages said. I didn't know anything about his pack or his family.
I only knew that whatever had reached him through that screen had cracked something open inside him, and the thing pushing out from beneath was dark and barely leashed.
Then the power went out.
The room dropped into total darkness.
Caelan sat in it for a long time without moving.
Then he stood, pushed the door open, and left without a word.
I waited. One minute. Five. Ten.
Then I got up and went downstairs.
I found him in the tavern attached to the inn, alone in a corner booth. There was a bottle on the table, more than half empty.
But it wasn't the alcohol that made him dangerous.
It was his eyes.
Amber flickered in them - surging, receding, surging again. His jaw was locked. His hands were flat against the table like he was holding himself down by sheer will.