The safehouse had never felt small before—not even when the storm outside rattled the windows or when Damian paced the halls like he was keeping the world from collapsing. But tonight… tonight it felt tight around the edges, as if the walls were listening.
Or watching.
I sat at the edge of the long couch in the living room, my knees pulled close. I should’ve been resting. I should’ve been calm. But my mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened.
The photograph.
Damian’s reaction.
The presence of someone inside the house earlier.
And the way Damian had looked at me afterward—
Like losing me was the one thing he couldn’t face.
The book he’d given me sat on the coffee table now, closed, the leather cover hiding the secret tucked inside. I felt pulled to it, yet afraid to
