©Novel Buddy
PREVIEW
... Angel sits beside me, rigid—too still. His gaze stays lowered, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, fingers twisted lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Nervous habit. I’ve noticed it before.
My eyes drift to his clothes.
Too thin.
Too worn.
Not meant for the sharp bite of morning air.
A quiet unease settles in my chest.
"Stop at an outfit shop," I tell the driver.
"Yes, Young Master."
Angel doesn’t look up, but his shoulder ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE



























