"What are you doing?" Sophie's voice cut through the chill of the night, a thread of concern woven into her tone. Her words tugged at the frayed edges of my composure, and I was forced to draw in a steadying breath, my grip on the crate tightening as though it could anchor me to the present moment.
I didn't need to look at her to feel the weight of her gaze. Her presence was a tangible thing, pressing against the barriers I had so carefully constructed. I knew the emotions weren't mine—weren't truly Draven's, at least—but the remnants of what the original Draven had felt still lingered, like ghosts haunting a long-abandoned castle. The sadness, the longing, the affection—they were all there, swirling just beneath the surface, threatening to pull me under if I let them.
