The knock on the door was low, deliberate, the kind of sound that made the air itself tremble. My stomach sank instantly. When I opened the door, a man was standing there. Broad shoulders that seemed to scrape the doorframe. Muscles that bunched under the beige colored fighting leathers of his tunic, like they could snap bone with a single twist. And eyes—cold, sharp, predatory—that scanned me from head to toe as if measuring how long I might survive just standing there. And on the other side of the door, there I was. Skin over bones. Messy hair. dark bags under her eyes.
The snap of his jaw alone would have made me want to curl into a ball. I knew, deep in my gut, that if he wanted me dead, I would be dust before I even hit the floor. My little trap from before, the one that had worked o
