Page 37 of Savage Crown

He didn’t want me to see it, didn’t want me to ask, but I did.

Because the more time I spend in the Midnight Den, the more I realize Rylan is not the man he pretends to be.

He hides behind sharp smiles, behind amusement that doesn’t reach his eyes. But I see him.

I see the way his jaw clenched when he read the message. The way his fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to crush the parchment between them.

Something about it rattled him.

And I want to know why.

I wait until he leaves. Until the tension in the room lingers like the ghost of a battle unfinished.

Then I move.

I search.

Not like a common thief, rifling through his things. I don’t need to.

Rylan isn’t careless. He doesn’t leave secrets lying around.

But a man like him—a man built from shadows and lies—has to keep pieces of himself somewhere.

And I’ve been watching him long enough to know where.

The desk.

It’s carved from blackwood, polished smooth, the edges lined with silver. Expensive. Impenetrable to an outsider.

But I’ve never been just an outsider.

I run my fingers along the edge, searching. Feeling.

Then—there.

A small indentation near the underside. Invisible unless you know exactly where to press.

I push.

A faint click, and the drawer shifts.

Unlocked.

My pulse thrums as I slide it open, revealing a stack of neatly bound documents. Letters. Records. And beneath them, tucked away as if it didn’t matter—a dagger.

Not one of the ones he carries.

This one is different.

Smaller, the blade old, worn from years of use. The handle bears a single engraving, a name too faded to read. But meaning of it—gods, I feel it.

This was his.

A relic of who he used to be.

I place it carefully on the desk and turn to the papers, flipping through them quickly, but not carelessly.

Most of them are coded exchanges, cryptic notes, nothing that tells me what I need to know.

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