The night was unusually still the kind of stillness that didn’t comfort but unsettled.

Rain tapped faintly against the windows of the safe house, the rhythm steady but sharp, like the echo of a distant heartbeat.

Amelia sat curled on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders, staring at the dim light flickering from the fireplace. She hadn’t slept. None of them had, not since the last confrontation with Damien’s men.

It wasn’t the gunfire or the injuries that haunted her. ...