The night had stretched long over the coastline, yet inside the safehouse, time seemed suspended. Every tick of the clock felt like a drumbeat announcing an approaching storm, an inevitable confrontation looming over them like a shadow carved from steel.

Justina sat on the edge of the worn leather sofa, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on the flickering candlelight that barely lit the room, but all she could see was Carson. Every thought, every pulse of adrenaline, every ...