GRAYSON’S GAZE was fixed on a point somewhere behind her shoulder, his pupils blown wide and trembling.

The silver that usually defined his demonic heritage had receded, replaced by a raw, haunting blue that looked almost too human for the man who had just leveled a server room with his bare hands.

"I see trees," he whispered, his voice raspy and devoid of its usual rhythmic authority. "Dark pines... so thick the sun can’t touch the floor. And a woman. She’s running."

Mailah felt a cold trickle of sweat slide down her spine, and it wasn’t from the heat of the fire behind them.

She searched her mind, flipping through the mental files of their shared history.

She remembered the border raids, the grey steel of the Ashford estate, and the sterile glass of the greenhouse. But a forest? A chase?

"Grayson, I’ve never been to a forest with you," she said, her voice shaking as she clutched the charred pendant at her throat. "We met here. You found me in bed. There were no trees, no chase."

He didn’t seem to hear her. His hand, still stained with the soot of the explosion, tightened on her waist, pulling her so close she could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart against her ribs.

He was looking through her.

"The light was gold," he continued, his breathing turning shallow. "The woman was wearing something white. It was torn. She looked back at me, and her eyes... they weren’t afraid."

He suddenly choked, a harsh, jagged sound, and his head dropped to her shoulder. The weight of him was immense.

He wasn’t an emotional man—demons of his rank were taught that feelings were a biological defect—but the way he clung to her suggested a man drowning in a sea of his own broken psyche.

"Grayson, look at me," Mailah commanded, mirroring the tone he often used on her. She took his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the blood away from his temple.

His eyes snapped back to hers.

The fog cleared, replaced instantly by a sharp, defensive wall of ice. He realized he had shown a crack in his armor, and the demon in him hated it.

He pulled back, his spine straightening into that familiar, unyielding rod of iron.

"It was nothing," he snapped, his voice returning to its low, gravelly baritone. "A side effect of the chemical fire. Neural interference."

"You don’t believe that," she countered, standing up with him.

Her legs were still a bit wobbly, but she refused to let him retreat into his cold fortress. "You described it with too much detail. You were there, Grayson."

"I told you to stay in the library," he said, ignoring her point entirely.

He began walking toward the main estate, his stride long and purposeful, though he moved with a slight limp he was clearly trying to hide. "If you had stayed, I wouldn’t have had to rip a five-ton server rack out of the floor."

"If I had stayed, you’d be dead," she shot back, hurrying to keep pace with him. "Ms. Halloway had her finger on the button. She wasn’t waiting for a conversation."

Grayson stopped so abruptly she nearly walked into his back. He turned, his silhouette towering over her in the moonlight.

He didn’t look angry; he looked... unsettled. Like a man who had calculated every variable and suddenly found a remainder he couldn’t explain.

"You should have been afraid," he murmured, reaching out. His fingers didn’t stroke her cheek this time; they gripped the back of her neck, pulling her up until she was on her tiptoes.

It was a rough, proprietary gesture, reminiscent of the way a soldier might check his gear before a march, yet the heat behind it was undeniable. "I saw the detonator. I saw the fire. And the only thing I could think about was that if you died, I would have nothing left to kill."

It was a classic Grayson Ashford confession. No "I love you," no "I’m glad you’re safe." Just a cold acknowledgement that she had become his primary anchor in a world of shadows.

"I’m not going to die, Grayson," she whispered, her hands finding the lapels of his ruined shirt. "And neither are you."

"Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mailah," he said, his thumb pressing into the soft skin just below her ear. "The Council’s courier is at the gates. They saw the fire. They saw the breach. They aren’t going to wait for us to recover."

He let her go, but his hand stayed on the small of her back, a firm, constant reminder of his presence.

They walked toward the side entrance of the residential wing, avoiding the main path where the estate’s emergency lights were beginning to flicker to life.

"About the forest," she started again, but he cut her off with a look that would have frozen a lesser woman’s blood.

"It was a hallucination," he said firmly. "Perhaps a memory from the man I was before the memory loss—a man who clearly had a penchant for chasing women through the woods. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is now. If Martha was a plant, the infiltration is deeper than I thought."

Mailah fell silent, but her mind was racing. If it was a memory from before, why didn’t she remember it?

She had been with him almost always except when he disappeared.

She knew his moods, his scars, his favorites. She had never worn a white dress, and she had never run through a forest.

As they reached the heavy steel doors of the private quarters, the security system chirped, recognizing Grayson’s biometrics.

He ushered her inside, his eyes scanning the hallway with a lethal focus.

"Carson!" Grayson barked into the empty hall.

Seconds later, his brother appeared from the shadows of the staircase, looking remarkably unruffled. He held a tablet in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other.

"The courier is getting restless, Gray," Carson said, his eyes darting to Mailah’s soot-stained dress and then to Grayson’s scorched skin. "He wants to know why the Ashford server room just became a localized sun."

"Tell him the cooling system failed," Grayson said, his voice like grinding stones. "And tell him that if he takes one more step toward the residential wing, I will personally escort him to the afterlife."

"Done," Carson said, a smirk playing on his lips. "But we have a problem. The Council is asking for files."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. "The files were in the server room. They’re ash now."

Mailah felt a cold pit in her stomach. "Grayson, the journal. I have it."

Both brothers turned to her. She reached into the hidden pocket of her grey wool dress and pulled out the small, leather-bound book she had grabbed before fleeing the library.

Grayson stared at it. For a moment, the cold mask slipped, and she saw the man from the vision again—the one who saw her in the gold light. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"You kept it," he whispered.

"I told you," Mailah said, stepping closer to him, ignoring Carson’s curious gaze. "I’m with an Ashford now. I know what’s worth saving."

Grayson took the book from her, his fingers brushing hers. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her that made her knees feel weak.

He didn’t say thank you. He just tucked the journal into his waistband and looked at Carson.

"Prepare the study," Grayson commanded. "And get a medical kit. Mailah needs to be checked."

"I’m fine, Grayson," she protested.

He didn’t even look at her as he began to walk away. "I didn’t ask."

It was the "commander" again who showed his affection through orders and overprotection.

Mailah sighed, but as she watched him walk away—his shoulders broad, his power radiating in waves—she realized she wouldn’t have him any other way.

But as she followed Carson toward the study, the image of the forest flashed in her mind. A woman in white. Gold light.

Who were you chasing, Grayson? she wondered.

The study was one of the few rooms in the estate that felt truly modern. Clean lines, recessed lighting, and a wall of monitors that displayed every inch of the perimeter.

Grayson sat behind the desk, his shirt discarded, revealing toned muscles on his chest and shoulders.

Mailah sat on the leather sofa, a damp cloth in her hand as she wiped the soot from her arms.

She watched him. He was a study in controlled violence. Even as he bled, he looked like he was ready to conquer a continent.

"Sit still," Grayson muttered, not looking up from the journal he was flipping through.

"I am sitting still," she said. "You’re the one who’s bleeding on the mahogany."

He grunted, finally looking at her. He stood up and walked over, the medical kit in his hand.

He knelt between her knees on the rug and reached for her arm.

"I can do it myself, Grayson."

"You can," he agreed, his voice low and dangerous. "But I prefer to know it’s done right."

He began to clean a small scrape on her forearm with a tenderness that didn’t match the hard lines of his face.

His movements were clinical, but his hands were warm, and the way he held her wrist was firm, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he let go.

"The courier belongs to Valerius," Grayson said, his eyes focused on her skin. "Somebody is making a play for the Ashford territory. They think that because I lost my memories, I’ve lost my teeth."

"And have you?" she asked softly.

He looked up then, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that made her breath catch. He reached out and caught her chin, his thumb dragging across her lower lip.