Elin’sPOV

The wine sits between us, half-empty. The restaurant has quieted—most diners gone, just the soft clink of dishes being cleared in the distance.

Aaron leans back, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "Do you remember that night? When you were eighteen?"

My chest tightens. 'Which night?' There were so many.

"The bar," he continues, his voice lower now. "Those thugs cornered you. I pulled you out of there."

The memory floods back—panic, rough hands grabbing at me, the ...