Avernon City doesn't give you time to breathe.
That morning, a thin fog cloaked the Devano mansion, blurring the big glass windows from outside. I stood in my new room—the one that still didn't feel like mine—watching the city pull away every time I reached for it.
The door opened without a knock.
Alaric walked in, expression unsettled. Not angry. Not cold. Alert.
"We have a problem," he said.
I turned. "Which one first?"
He closed the distance, stopping right in front of me. "He's moving."
"The man?"
"Marcus Hale." Alaric said the name like an old disease. "Former partner. Now... a reminder."
My chest tightened. "He messaged me again this morning."
Alaric's gaze hardened instantly. "What did it say?"
"An invitation." I swallowed. "Lunch. Public. He said... he wants to make sure I'm okay."
Alaric's smile was thin, humorless. "He wants to be seen with you."
"To pressure you."
"To test my limits," he corrected. "And now he knows they exist."
