Aria's POV
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Arlo Wicker moved toward me like he owned not just the room, but the entire universe it existed in. Every step was deliberate, his long coat sweeping behind him in a dramatic flair that I could tell wasn’t entirely accidental. He exuded a confidence that could either calm or unnerve, depending on which side of his attention you fell on.
I leaned back against the pillows, still weak but feeling stronger than I had in days. Damon stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and eyes sharp as knives, his whole posture screaming I don’t trust you.
“Luna,” Arlo said, his voice smooth as silk, with just a hint of amusement. “Let’s see what we’re working with here.” His gaze flicked to the dagger on the nightstand, his lips
