The night air felt heavy, thick enough that Elena could taste the tension in every breath. Dante’s hand tightened around hers as they stood at the edge of the abandoned harbor, the dim orange glow of rusted streetlights flickering above them. The waves slapped against the concrete in a restless rhythm, echoing the unease twisting in her stomach.
They were supposed to meet his contact here, someone who claimed to have answers about the Crimson Line, the Brotherhood, and the truth behind why Elena had been targeted. But as minutes dragged into nearly half an hour, no one showed.
Dante’s jaw clenched the longer they waited. Elena could tell he was trying to keep his temper in check, but frustration radiated from him like heat from a fire.
“This is wrong,” he muttered under his breath. “He’
