Mara’s POV
The call comes at dawn.
Not a threat.
Not a demand.
An invitation.
A single encrypted channel opens on my tablet while the city is still half-asleep, the sky outside pale and undecided.
You’re making this bigger than it needs to be.
I don’t respond.
Declan sits beside me on the edge of the bed, coffee untouched in his hands, watching my face instead of the screen.
Rowan is safe. For now.
Let’s resolve this without spectacle.
I feel the anger rise—sharp, controlled, honed by weeks of restraint.
“They want a private meeting,” I say.
Declan nods. “Of course they do.”
“They think secrecy gives them leverage.”
“They think isolation does,” he corrects. “They’re wrong.”
I type back one line.
You don’t get privacy with hostages.
The reply comes slower this time.
Choos
