Winter’s POV

I followed him out of the car, the glass doors of the building reflecting a version of me that still felt unreal. Amor Ortega. The name fit too well now, like it had always been waiting for me. The lobby buzzed with quiet efficiency, heels clicking against marble, voices low and purposeful. No one spared me more than a passing glance, and that alone felt like a victory.

The elevator ride was silent. Derek stood beside me, eyes fixed ahead, posture sharp now that we were in ...