KANE'S POV

I saw the tremble in her hands first. Aria, always poised, always wearing sarcasm like shield—cracked. And not just cracked, she shattered in front of me. Sibil was still on the floor, playing victim, choking on her crocodile tears. Aria stood like a statue carved in pain. Her eyes wide, glassy, lips parted but mute. Zane’s voice had turned knives.

Where was the fire now?

Where was the woman who barked at me like she had something to prove?

Where was that stubborn chin, ...