Extended Epilogue Ariel
TEN YEARS LATER
The silk blindfold is soft against my lashes. “Three steps up,” Sasha murmurs in that low rasp that still makes my pulse stutter. The air shifts as he guides me across the threshold—cool marble underfoot, the faintest hum of a piano weaving through the clink of crystal. Lemon polish and sea salt. My memory prickles.