The floodlights overhead flickered once before burning steady, bleaching the cracked pavement in a cold, merciless white. My breath fogged in the night air, shallow, uneven.
Noah stood beside me, rigid, and for the first time since I’d known him, I felt his stillness not as strength but as shock. His hand was locked at his side, knuckles pale, jaw sharp as stone. I followed his gaze and then I saw her.
Vivienne Bennett.
She stepped out of the shadows like she had been waiting her whole life for this performance. Time hadn’t touched her the way it should have. Her hair, dark with silver threaded through, fell neatly to her shoulders. Her coat was tailored, heavy, more like armor than clothing. And her eyes—sharp, assessing, unflinching—latched onto Noah’s the way a hawk fixes on prey.
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