The safehouse had a mood of its own, and tonight it was sharp. Before dawn the walls seemed closer, the echoes cleaner, as if the building itself had decided to strip down to essentials. Cold concrete. Metal beams. The mat waiting like an altar. I liked it better this way—no distractions, no warmth to lull anyone into forgetting what the world does when you stop paying attention.
Cheyenne thought this was about training. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either. The gala had shown me two things: that she could stand in a room designed to strip people bare and still keep her name intact, and that Rafe had seen her. Once he saw her, he would not stop. He’d test. Probe. Push. I needed her strong enough that when the test came, she didn’t collapse under the weight of it.
⸻
Luca came be
