“How’s your injury holding up?” Harlan inquired, his gaze shifting to Marcus’s arm, his demeanor earnest.

“I’m still holding on,” Marcus responded.

The glass found its reprieve upon the table as Marcus unshackled his tie with a casual grace.

“Give me a ring before you can’t hold on, and I’ll whisk you away to Raven Island, rescuing you from the depths of hell.”

Marcus let out a derisive snort, retorting, “Well, thanks then.”

For the ensuing duration, the room succumbed to quietude, with both occupants displaying a penchant for reticence.

A N G E L A ‘s L I B R A R Y

Marcus’s phone resonated

itself-a pastoral vista adorned with stars, a whispered tale of

of stars adorned

slight grin, Marcus

leave a void in

the notion that if a girl sent images like cerulean skies or sunsets, it was indicative of missing

Millie’s response arrived.

to share the

concluded with a self-assured

in

screen, Harlan surmised that he must be conversing with Millie. Left with nothing to occupy his time, Harlan uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured

its cessation, its allure undeniable. And from the shadows of his brief seclusion

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