The elevator ride down feels longer than it should.
Too quiet.
Too confined.
By the time the doors slide open into the underground garage, my pulse still hasn’t settled. Ronan’s words cling to me like fingerprints beneath my skin.
You’re going to hand it back signed.
The worst part is that somewhere beneath the panic, beneath the anger and adrenaline, I believe him.
Rain hits cold against my face the second I step outside. The city glows silver beneath the storm, headlights streaking across wet pavement while thunder rumbles somewhere high above the skyline.
I should feel relieved to be leaving.
Instead, it feels strangely like retreat.
A black sedan pulls smoothly to the curb beside me.
The driver steps out immediately, umbrella already open. “Miss Bennett,” he says respectfully
