ASHER
Reed was already halfway up the grand staircase, Liana in his arms, when I caught up. Her head rested against his shoulder, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and wariness. The dim chandelier light highlighted her torn clothes, the bruises on her legs, and the vulnerability she tried so hard to mask.
“This way,” Reed said, his tone quiet but firm as he turned toward one of the guest rooms.
The door creaked open, revealing the room we’d hastily prepared. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm light on the massive bed, draped in dark gray linens. The polished hardwood floors gleamed, and the tall windows framed the moonlit forest outside. It wasn’t feminine by any stretch—no delicate curtains, no floral touches—but it was clean, spacious, and safe.
Reed set her down caref
