Krystal's Point Of View
The wind rattled the edges of the safehouse as if the storm Colt had walked into was still trying to claw its way in. I stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the sink, waiting. Every tick of the clock above the stove was another second he could’ve been killed. Another second I could lose everything all over again.
Elias sat on the couch, eyes glued to a decrypted string of data running down the screen. He didn’t say much. He knew better. The silence between us wasn’t discomfort—it was reverence. A truce in the wake of a battlefield not yet confirmed dead or victorious.
Then the door creaked, I spun and there he was. He was oaked, bruised, breathing, alive. My heart punched upward, relief flooding through me with a violence that nearly knocked me down.
