Isolde stilled for a moment she knew she should tell him of what she encountered the night before but she needed to keep this herself just a little longer. "No," she lies, forcing a soft smile. "Nothing since that night."
Elynor watches her too closely, his gaze searching hers for the truth. His fingers tighten slightly in her hair, not painfully but with clear intent. "Isolde," he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate in the darkness. "You can tell me anything."
She swallows, her pulse quickening. The lie sits heavy between them, and for a moment she considers confiding everything—the whispering in the corridors, the cold drafts that seemed to follow her, the way her skin prickled with phantom touches. But the words stick in her throat.
