James Lancaster's words brought Clara Green no comfort—only heightened panic.
He'd already made himself at home on the bed, lounging against the headboard. "Aren't you coming to bed?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Thought you were dead tired."
"You're... staying?"
"If I leave, you'll just lie here jumping at shadows all night. Even if I told you Lance isn't coming back, you'd still be wound tighter than a spring."
Snatching a self-help book from Lance Hogan's nightstand, he gave it one scornful glance before tossing it aside. "Who reads this trash?" His lip curled in disgust.
Turning back to Clara, his voice softened. "I'll stay. Get some real sleep—no overthinking. I'm gone at dawn."
Clara felt a quiet warmth spread through her, steady as a heartbeat.
"Well?" James nudged her shou
