The room was too quiet after the door clicked shut.

Freya sat on the edge of the bed, the wet towel still wrapped around her, and her hair dripping faintly onto her thighs. The confrontation with Daniel replayed in jagged flashes — the weight in his voice, the steel in his eyes, the way he stepped closer until she felt the air shift between them.

Her pulse still hadn’t fully calmed.

You almost got caught.

The voice slid into her mind like a shadow — sharp, familiar, and impossible to ...