BOOK 3: Chapter 7: Powerless Glance
The morning of the next day is too quiet.
Even the usual sounds of the neighborhood—birdsong, the distant hum of a lawnmower—feel like they’re holding back, waiting.
She stands in the doorway with her arms crossed, hugging her robe tighter around her as Gregory lifts his suitcase into the trunk of the car. His travel bag is slung over one shoulder, business jacket pressed and folded neatly in the crook of his arm. He moves with practiced ease, his face relaxed, unreadable.
She knows this trip means something to him—an important meeting with investors, a retreat, a reset—but it feels like the wrong time to leave.
And not because she’ll miss him.
Because something dangerous is stirring just beneath the surface. Something she’s not sure she can fight
