The penthouse was a mausoleum.
Dust clung to the air, glittering faintly in the cracks of light that leaked past heavy curtains drawn too tight. The silence was thick, unnatural, broken only by the crunch of shattered glass beneath Liam’s shoes as he and Ava burst in. Their footsteps echoed like gunfire in a place that had forgotten sound.
The air smelled of old carpet, metal, and something faintly electric—like a storm that hadn’t broken.
Liam’s eyes scanned the room instantly, sharp and precise, cataloguing danger. His hand hovered near the weapon holstered beneath his jacket, every muscle poised to strike. But what he saw at the center of the room stopped him.
Aaron.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, a boy folded into himself, small against the cavernous room. The tablet lay beside
