The pale morning light crept slowly through the tall windows of their suite, slipping past the soft cream curtains and spilling across the room in muted gold. The city outside was only just waking—distant honks, the faint hum of traffic, a siren somewhere blocks away—but in here, everything was still.
Violet was curled up beneath the plush white duvet, one bare shoulder peeking out, her dark hair a messy halo across the pillow. Her breathing was slow and deep, the kind of sleep that came only when she felt safe. Killer sat at the edge of the bed, his hair damp from the shower, the muscles in his back flexing as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His phone vibrated in his hand.
Devil.
He frowned. Devil wasn’t one for early-morning calls unless it was urgent. Without glancing
