Aliyah's POV

The message stabbed deeper than the rest. My thumb hovered over the screen, the edges of it slick in my grip. It had to be Cohen. Nobody else would write something like that — not unless they knew me, really knew me.

I deleted the message, watching the text vanish like that would erase it from my head. It didn’t. The words kept circling back, sharp and deliberate, digging into every quiet moment.

When I stepped out of the tent the next morning, the air felt too bright, ...