The sunlight had already found us by the time I rolled out of bed. It streamed through Dante’s thin curtains in wide golden slants, spilling across the floor and warming my bare feet as I padded toward the small kitchen. The townhouse was quiet - for someone like me, who was used to noise being a threat. But here, silence didn’t feel like a cage.

I found Dante half-awake at the counter, fussing with the coffee maker like it had offended him. His dark hair was still mussed, his T-shirt wrinkled, and yet somehow he looked unfairly good.

“Morning, menace,” he said when he noticed me, voice low with sleep....