EMBER’S POV
“Up.”
The word arrives from somewhere in the dark, attached to a hand that closes around my ankle and pulls.
And I go from a warm and blameless sleep to halfway down the bed in the space of a heartbeat, clawing at sheets, making a sound I would describe as dignified and Knox would describe as a goose being stepped on.
“Wha—” I flail upright, hair in my face, heart slamming. “What. What’s wrong? Who’s dying? Is it Rafael? Is it—”
“Nothing’s wrong.” The lamp clicks on, and there he is, standing at the foot of the bed, fully dressed, arms crossed, looking like a man who has been awake for hours and has opinions about people who aren’t. “Get up. Get dressed. Something you can move in.”
I stare at him. I stare at the window, where it is black. Fully, unapologetically black. No
