TWENTY-FIVE
The next few days passed in a blur. Rafa kept Amara moving from one safe location to another, always staying one step ahead of Xander’s men. The tension between them had only deepened, but so had their connection. There were moments when the weight of their shared circumstances seemed to fade, replaced by a sense of comfort and understanding that neither of them had expected. But even in the quiet moments, Rafa couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that their time was running out. Amara sat in the small, dimly lit kitchen of the safe house, her fingers tracing the rim of a chipped mug as she stared into the steaming coffee. She hadn’t slept well the past few nights, her thoughts constantly consumed by what was at stake. The truth was, she didn’t know if she could continue living like this. Th
- Writer
