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    Summary

    Gwyn scribbles furiously on a notepad, pen in one hand and cookie in another, and startles when suddenly the doors to the veranda open and in steps a soaking wet Shadowsinger.

    For a moment, Gwyn just stares at him – the damp hair that falls across his forehead, those dark eyes that she can’t even begin to read. He stares back, and then, as if snapping out of a trance, Gwyn blinks and sets her cookie down, pulling the scattered books closer toward her.

    “Sorry,” Gwyn breathes. “I’m always doing this.”

    “Always doing what?” he asks mildly, still staring at her with that piercing gaze that feels as sharp as the dagger on his belt.

    “Interrupting your quiet,” Gwyn answers, closing the book she’d been reading. “I know you like to be-”

    “-Alone,” Azriel finishes, and the sheepish look that materializes on her face earns a lazy half-smile from him.

    Something flips in her stomach.

    Language:
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