Amara’s POV
The warmth of the previous night hadn't just evaporated; it had been systematically dismantled.
When I woke, the space beside me in the narrow bed was not just empty—it was cold, as if no one had ever occupied it. The patchwork quilt that had felt like a cocoon of safety now felt like a heavy, suffocating weight. I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of my sweater, the silence of the Poconos cabin ringing in my ears like a high-pitched frequency.
I found Adrian in the small, makeshift office nook near the woodstove. The sun hadn't quite cleared the ridge of the mountain, leaving the room in a bruised, pre-dawn grey. He was bathed in the harsh, artificial glow of three different laptop screens. The rhythmic, staccato click-clack of his typing was the only so
