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Amara's POV
She couldn’t sleep.
Again.
The air inside the new safehouse felt too still. Too clean. Too quiet—like the silence wasn’t just silence, but the absence of something she didn’t want to name.
Her fingertips ghosted over the edge of the window blinds, peering out at the street below. Nothing moved. No sound. No lights.
Still, she felt watched.
Monroe said it was impossible. “Secured perimeter,” he’d assured her. “No way he can find you here.”
But Amara knew better.
Xavier didn’t rely on GPS or guards or open doors.
He relied on her.
On how deeply he’d carved himself into her thoughts. How effortlessly he could unravel her with a single look... a memory... a whisper in the dark.
He knew her. Intimately. Completely.
And she feared—maybe even hated—how some part of he
