CHAPTER 22: MORNING LIGHT
She wakes before dawn. The first instinct is panic—she's alone, uncontrolled, unsupervised. But then she remembers. She's not in the penthouse. She's in the safe house. She's not a prisoner. She's free. She lies in the morning darkness and processes this fact until it becomes real. Dante is asleep next to her, his breathing steady, his face softened by sleep in a way it never is when he's awake. This is the version of him that exists only in vulnerability—the version that has to let go of control to rest. She studies him like she's trying to memorize his features. She reaches out and traces his jaw—carefully, so as not to wake him. She touches the place where the scar marks his face and wonders about all the moments she'll never know, all the dangerous things that shaped him before she
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