Our moment—our dangerously intimate, stupidly honest moment—shattered like glass under a tire.
Adrian’s spine straightened. His breath stilled. His eyes sharpened with that lethal calm I’d only ever seen in Rogue… except now I knew they were the same man.
“Luna.”
My name wasn’t soft this time. It was a warning.
A plea.
A promise.
All at once.
“What did they mean by extraction?” I asked, pulse skidding into panic.
He didn’t answer.
He just grabbed my wrist and pulled me with him.
We sprinted across the open lot behind the track, the December wind slicing across my face. The cold bit through my jacket, sharp and unforgiving, but Adrian didn’t slow. His fingers curled around mine like an anchor, dragging me through shadows between abandoned containers and rusted-out race barricades.
