Amara's POV

“Stop. Take me to Marchand.”

I felt like my chest would cave in if I didn’t get out of that van. Grief, fury, and a raw kind of panic braided together until my hands were white on my knees. Paul watched me through the rearview mirror, his jaw tight, like he was trying to count the cost of every single choice I was about to make.

“Marchand’s place is a bad idea,” he said again, quietly. “He’s volatile. He’s got men everywhere. If he thinks you know where Isobel ...