It was past midnight now—officially his birthday. Eighteen. The day his life wound down, like some broken toy. The day everything went silent and cold.

Grey stood with one palm pressed to the curved window in the West Wing tower, watching the flat black night sky, pulled taut like a shroud. Fitting, considering he felt about as dead as a person could feel while still having a pulse. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how he felt or what had happened with… her… because this was for the best. His father had warned him, and he’d been foolish. Grey had thought he knew better.

He almost laughed at the idea. How fucking hilarious that he’d thought, even for a moment, that he might actually get to see this day on his own terms. Jaya had made him believe that— that was the cruelest thing of all.

He closed his eyes and began to count down the hours until sunrise.

Jaya

Jaya sat in the empty common room on a green velvet couch, drinking her coffee, her eyes bleary. It was barely four a.m., but that didn’t matter. She hadn’t slept at all anyway. She’d tiptoed out of Isha’s room about thirty minutes ago, once she’d heard her sister’s soft snores.

On the arm of the couch, the final book in Jaya’s YA romance series lay open and facedown. She’d tried to read it, but her mind kept wandering. It kept flashing pictures of Grey. The way he’d looked both burning with fury and completely defeated when he confronted her. The way he’d held her close when they were dancing at the mixer so long ago. Skiing with him in Aspen. How he’d bought her the gap-year book. Their snowball fight, the way he’d kissed her until she forgot she was cold.

Where was he now? Was he waiting for the sunrise by himself somewhere? Her heart ached to be with him, not just because she wanted to see him smile at her again, but because she knew he was probably so very scared, and now, thanks to her, so very lonely. The pendant glinted at her throat. Only one ruby remained.

Jaya felt like she was wearing every feeling, every emotion on the outside of her skin. Her sweater scraped too hard against her, the coffee slid too hotly down her throat. An outsider looking at her would see a princess, poised perfectly on the edge of a settee, looking out a large picture window at the darkness beyond. But what they wouldn’t know was that at any moment she might burst into tears because the night was too dark, the silence was too loud, or the world was too big.

“You’re up really early.”

Jaya turned to see Caterina stalking in, already dressed in a belted cream sweater and black pants, her feet clad in suede boots. Her makeup and hair were perfectly done. “What time did you have to wake up to look like that at four o’clock in the morning?” Jaya asked.