Zendaya's POV
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, warming my face and dragging me from sleep. I blinked at the ceiling, unsure when I had drifted off. My body ached from last night's run.
I'd slipped past the border, masked my scent, shifted into fur the color of silver instead of my usual white. Hiding my identity. And my mark.
The first time I ran, I was reckless. Someone could've seen me. Now, I was cautious. I can't afford my identity being exposed. When I have no one to trust.
My chest tightened with the weight of everything left unsaid last night. Damien's name pressed against my mind like a bruise I kept poking.
What we had—whatever fragile thread had started to form between us—it had unraveled overnight. He hadn't spoken a word since. And I... I didn't chase after silence anymore.
I turned to the nightstand. The matte black box sat untouched, small and sleek and humming with expectation.
A phone.
