In the dead of night, Isobel woke screaming, her cry slicing through the thin walls of the trailer, sharp and ragged as shattered glass. Ryder was already upright, eyes snapping open like lightning, hand braced against the headboard as though he had been expecting this storm. His chest heaved, breaths measured, a predator’s awareness in every line of him. “Isobel,” he murmured, voice low, a Tennessee drawl wrapped in Manhattan precision, coaxing her down from the edge of her terror. ...