JASMINE'S POV
The first thing that hit me was the warmth. It wasn't the soft, gentle kind you feel on a sunny morning that makes you sigh like you were in a Pinterest morning dream.
No, this was a thick, intense warmth—like being hugged by a furnace that actually had a pulse.
My eyes fluttered open, just barely.
Ugh. Everything ached.
My muscles felt like I'd run a marathon in heels while carrying emotional trauma and a gallon of supernatural tension. My head throbbed faintly, and my scar tingled. Not painfully, just… awake.
I inhaled deeply, expecting hospital bleach or magical incense, but instead…
Cedar. Spice. Clean cotton.
My head was pillowed on something warm and firm.
Chest.
I blinked. And then it all came flooding back.
The ball. The dance. Marcus. His prophecy, or whatever it was he talked about. My uncle. The vision. The child screaming. Shadows.
I swallowed hard and dared to tilt my gaze upward.
Aiden.
Sleeping beside me.
