The next morning came quietly, but the peace didn’t last long.
Angel woke to the sound of low voices drifting in from the hallway. At first, she thought she was dreaming. Then she heard Dean’s voice, calm, controlled, but edged with something tight beneath the surface.
“…I don’t care who contacted you,” he was saying. “I want to know how you got that number.”
Angel sat up slowly in bed, her heart beginning to race.
The other voice was muffled, but she could tell it was a man. Firm. Professional.
A reporter.
She slipped out of bed, pulling on a robe, and stepped into the hallway just as Dean ended the call.
He stood there for a moment, staring at his phone like he was deciding whether to throw it across the room.
“Dean?” she said softly.
He looked up immediately. The tension in his
