He was halfway back to her side when his attention snagged on something resting on the nightstand.
Circe's journal.
It sat there abandoned, the leather cover familiar to him. Curiosity nudged him off course, urging his steps in its direction before he could stop himself. He bent and picked it up, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface as memories stirred.
He remembered the last time he had held one of her journals, how she had caught him with it in his hands and how fury had flashed in her eyes. That had been when she still hated him, when every interaction between them had been sharp-edged and brittle, limited to glares thrown from opposite ends of a room.
Things were different now.
Ill-advised as it was, he opened the journal.
