LONDON’S POV
My chest burned, each step a reminder of the morning’s run, the ache settling deep into my muscles. My breath still came in uneven bursts as I stepped back into the house, Jerry trailing behind me. But the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the storm inside me. My mind wasn’t on the run or the sweat cooling on my skin. It was on her.
Elena.
As we moved toward the kitchen to grab water, I caught a glimpse of her. She was hurrying down the hallway, her movements sharp, almost frantic, like she was trying to outrun something—or someone.
When her eyes flicked to mine, there was a flash of something unreadable—a flicker of vulnerability—and then she was gone, disappearing around the corner. The air between us felt charged, heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm b
