Chapter 47.
The evening air in the Smith house was thick and still, the kind of quiet that usually preceded a tactical shift. Archer was out on a night-patrol shift at the base, and Eliza had finally retired to her room with a stack of historical romance novels. Twenty-three days. Briar stood in the center of her bedroom, the door clicked shut but not locked. She had pulled the garment bag from the back of her closet like it was a contraband weapon. Shifting out of her cotton dress, she stepped into the gold silk. It felt less like fabric and more like liquid fire sliding over her skin. Victor had chosen the color well; it made her skin glow and turned her brown eyes into something amber and molten. She reached behind her, her fingers fumbling with the delicate hidden zipper at the base of he
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