Mara’s POV
The mistake is thinking the meeting ends when everyone leaves.
It doesn’t.
It follows us out of the terminal, coils itself around every unsaid word, and waits.
We’re halfway back to Seattle when Declan’s phone rings.
He answers without slowing the car.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then his grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Where?”
Another pause—shorter this time.
“I’m listening.”
I don’t interrupt. I already know something’s wrong. The bond doesn’t scream, but it hums low and tense, like a warning wire pulled too tight.
When he ends the call, he doesn’t look at me right away.
“Say it,” I tell him.
“One of the survivors,” he says carefully. “The younger one. Eli.”
My stomach drops.
“What about him?”
“He didn’t go home.”
The city lights blur past the window.
“Define ‘di
