Draven's pov
The room was too small for her.
Not in size. No,there was space to pace, to sit, to sleep. But it caged her spirit, and that was what I saw dying more and more each day. I didn't want to admit it at first. I told myself she was safer in there, that confinement would temper her fire, soften her defiance.
It didn't.
She only grew sharper. Wilder.
She stared at me like she could burn holes through my skull. I visited her daily, and each time I stepped inside that cold hallway, I found myself silently wishing she'd speak to me. Just once. Without venom. Without hatred.
But all I got were curses.
Until Edward told me what he'd seen.
"She was crying," he said, eyes heavy with something close to pity. "At the window. Said the room reminded her of her sister. Nyla, I think the name was. Said she used to braid her hair on balconies just like that one."
