By the time Jasper returned from the Snow Council, the manor was spotless, the air still and quiet as if nothing had happened. The black blood, the suffocating shadows, the scent of decay—it was all gone. Nicole made sure of it. She wore one of her delicate silk gowns, brushed her hair, even applied rouge to her cheeks to cover the pale sickness that lingered beneath her skin.
When Jasper walked through the door, she greeted him with her usual gentle smile.
"You're back," she said softly, her voice sweet, yet hollow beneath the surface.
Jasper narrowed his dark eyes at her. His senses prickled, an unseen thread of tension pulling at him the moment he stepped into the room. Something wasn't right. Nicole's smile was too perfect, her posture too still. And worst of all—he could feel it. The gnawing ache… the shadow of pain humming in the air like a silent scream only he could hear.
"Nicole," he said firmly, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"
