There’s a knock.
“Luna,” Dante says. “It’s me.”
As if I don’t recognize his voice.
Mia squeezes my arm once.
“I’ll be in the studio,” she says quietly. “If you need a witness. Or an excuse to leave.”
She slips out past him.
Dante steps in after, closing the door behind him with more care than usual.
He looks like he’s been awake for three days.
Shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled, tie nowhere in sight. Shadow on his jaw. Eyes even darker than normal.
He takes in the open laptop, the article on the screen, and the phone in my hand.
“I assume you’ve seen it,” he says.
“They named me an asset,” I say. “It was hard to miss. It's very flattering font choices, though.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“They leaked the registry,” he says. “And pieces of the old financials. We’re tryin
