Mandy sat at the kitchen counter, spinning her spoon around in a half-eaten bowl of cereal. The silence in the safehouse had become unbearable. She hadn’t seen the outside world in weeks, hadn’t heard the sound of regular life. It was suffocating.

Dante walked in, phone to his ear, voice low and commanding. He ended the call with a clipped, “Handle it,” then looked up and caught her watching him.

“I’m bored,” she said plainly.

Dante raised a brow. “So read a book.”

“I’m ...