TWENTY-SEVEN
Amara sat on the edge of the worn leather couch, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The safe house was small and secluded, nestled in the shadow of the mountains. It felt worlds away from the chaos of Xander’s penthouse, but her mind was anything but at ease. Rafa moved quietly through the room, checking the locks on the doors and windows for the third time that evening. His movements were methodical, but Amara could sense the tension radiating from him. He hadn’t said much since they’d escaped, and the silence between them was heavy. “You don’t have to keep pacing,” she said softly, breaking the quiet. Rafa turned to her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not pacing. I’m making sure we’re safe.” She gave him a small, tired smile. “You’ve already done that. You always do.” His g
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