It had been a week.
A week since the council's corruption had been exposed.
A week since Maya slept through the night without waking up screaming.
A week since Lucien stopped making slow, deliberate sweeps through the safehouse every evening, checking locks, shadows, and escape routes as if danger might be waiting just outside the door.
A week since I stopped waking at three in the morning expecting another countdown.
Another crisis.
Another fight.
Quiet.
I wasn't entirely sure I trusted it.
The safehouse smelled different now.
Coffee.
Fresh bread.
Old paper.
Life.
Maya had effectively claimed the kitchen as her territory. She couldn't fight. She couldn't track criminals across the city.
But she could cook.
And she wielded that talent with frightening efficiency.
"You're s
