Aisha stood in the entryway with her coat in her hands, fingers twisting the fabric nervously.
The mansion felt too quiet now.
Too big.
Too charged.
After Amara’s explosion, after the sharp edges of anger and jealousy that had sliced through the air, Aisha’s instincts were screaming that she didn’t belong here. That staying would only cause more damage.
“I should go,” she murmured to herself, slipping one arm into her coat.
She took a step toward the door.
Then another.
Her hand reached for the handle—
And suddenly, she wasn’t moving anymore.
Callen’s hand closed around her wrist.
Right over the spot.
The exact place where the glowing mark had appeared the night before.
Aisha gasped sharply.
Heat exploded up her arm, not painful but overwhelming—like electricity flooding her
