Morning bled into the safehouse through broken blinds, slicing pale stripes across the room. The smoke from the Crestfall fire still clung to Raven’s hair, her skin, her lungs. Sleep hadn’t come, not for her, not for Jaxon. They’d spent the night in silence and fire, their bodies tangled, their hearts still at war.

She sat on the edge of the couch now, bare feet brushing against the cold wooden floor, the bandage on her arm already stained. Her reflection in the black screen of the ...