Devil POV
The scent hit me first: greensoap and ink, leather, and something sweet beneath. I pushed through the door of Ninth Circle with my shoulder, holding it open long enough for Aria to slip past me into the narrow space. The bell above chimed. I let the door swing shut behind us.
It had been three weeks since I’d walked her through the compound gates. Three weeks of her meeting faces—Grave, Riot, a handful of brothers whose names I rattled off while she stood too close, memorizing them with that careful stillness she has. She shook hands with prospects and sat at the bar in the Inferno nursing a ginger ale while I handled business at the far table. She stopped flinching every time a door slammed.
Small things. I cataloged them anyway. That’s what I did.
“Holy s**t,” Aria breathed
