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Chapter Twenty-One.
I threw myself onto my bed, the mattress sinking beneath me like a long-lost friend. After nine nights curled on crates and concrete, the soft bedding and clean pillow felt like heaven. My wet hair fanned out across the sheets, still damp from what might have been the best shower of my life—hot water, real soap, and enough time to scrub away a layer of grime and maybe, just maybe, a sliver of the guilt clinging to my skin. I hadn’t said a word to Calian after we got back. I took the personal stairwell straight to the upper quarters, leaving Jerard to deal with him—directing him, no doubt, to the cramped office attached to his workshop. I couldn’t look at either of them. Not yet. Turning on my side, I let my gaze drift toward the window. The city blinked back at me through the glass, hazy
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