The whisper had stopped.

But the silence that followed wasn't silence.

It was charged.

With purpose.

With intent.

Leya did not lie well once the voice had stopped—her body outstretched on the bed, back tense against the headboard, every hair on her arms bristling not due to fear, but due to awareness.

Not every step is a threat.

But there are warnings.

And the one that had named her tonight. It hadn't been trying to scare her.

It had been trying to ...