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“Regan. Please, will you open the door?” I recognized the voice. Lysander Orphos.

Something in my throat tightened at the thought of him. A complicated knot wedged there, made up of resentment mixed with gratitude. He’d saved me. How dare he save me? Why hadn’t he saved Florence?

The latch clicked. I knew I’d locked it. The door swung open. I sat up, pushing myself back against the headboard, pulling the quilt up to my chin. “Get out.”

“I won’t come any closer.” Lysander’s voice was soft.

I’d always thought him soft in every way. Strange like all the Orphos were. Then he’d come for me. Fought for me. Now … now I wasn’t so sure. I studied him for a moment. His hair was much longer than Kage’s. He had half of it piled up in a bun. He was as tall as Kage, yet more graceful in the way he moved. His features were fine-boned, delicate yet sharp. High cheekbones. A long straight nose. A small cleft in his chin. His eyes were a clear sky-blue, framed by unbelievably long light brown lashes. There was, I realized, feeling oddly disarmed, a sensuality to his mouth I’d never noticed. A smolder beneath the calm exterior.

If Kage was pure wolf, predatory and powerful, then Lysander was something else entirely.

His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and on one of his forearms I could see a strip of bandages poking out. He’d been wounded. I suddenly remembered him standing on the parapet with his hands outstretched as I fell. I shuddered, pulling the blanket up closer to my chin. “Please just go away, Lysander.”

“There are no healers with me. No one is outside. I’m alone.”

I stared at him from the bed. “All right.”

“You’ve been refusing to eat.”

“So what? I’m sure the school will survive the tragedy.”

“You mean, if you died?” He shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Oh no?” I said dully.

“No. You’re stronger than that. You didn’t survive just to starve to death like a wild animal caught in a trap.” He met my eyes. “You’re not trapped, Regan.” He gestured to the room. “If this room is not to your liking—”

“It’s fine,” I said automatically.

He nodded. “The healers … they were hoping to continue to treat your burns.”

“They’ll heal or they won’t. One way or another.” I shrugged. “What’s another scar or two?” I looked away, toward the window. “I don’t want to be touched anymore. I don’t want to be looked at.”

The silence stretched. “That’s … understandable.”

I looked back at him. “You were in my dreams. The voice I heard. It was yours?” He nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me your name? I would have recognized you.” I swallowed. “I thought I was going mad.”

He looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think …”

“Didn’t think what?”

He shifted on his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. His shirt was linen and a pale lilac. I’d always been fond of the color. I’d even worn it sometimes, despite being in Drakharrow. The collar of his shirt was open, and I could see golden hairs curling against his skin. I looked away. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from an Orphos.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know how rare it is? To be able to be reached in dreams like that?”

I shook my head. “I assumed it was just some trick you learn in your house.”

He smiled slightly. “No. I tried to reach you many times. I only succeeded a few. The place they had you in was well-warded. But despite that …”

“Despite that what?”

“I managed to get through.”

“Well, you must be very talented.”

His mouth twisted. “Or you are.”