Violet couldn't pretend not to notice, no matter how much she tried. It wasn't just the obvious signs—like the ever-shifting color of Cain's eyes that mirrored his unstable moods—it was the fact that she shared a bed with him every night, that made it impossible to ignore, and infinitely more nerve-wracking.
His eye color changed with his emotions. And his emotions? They were never mild. It was as if he had grown a new personality altogether—one she didn't recognize.
Sometimes, he was silent. Not the kind of silence that brought comfort, but a deep, oppressive quiet that weighed down the room. Violet would catch a glimpse of his eyes in those moments, and all she saw was pain—raw, barely-contained suffering that he was desperately trying to shield from her. Then, without warning, he'd shift—becoming intense in a way that made her feel like he was on the edge of erupting into something dangerous.
