The silence after his phone buzzed felt like a scream. I sat frozen on the couch, staring at Dante as if I could pull the truth from his eyes. He avoided my gaze, thumb tracing the seam of his jeans. The man who always met me head-on was suddenly looking anywhere but me.

“It was him,” I said again, softer this time, as if whispering might make it less true. My chest squeezed, breath shallow. I hated how quickly my body remembered the old fear.

Dante’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t confirm. He didn’t have to. The way his shoulders tensed was answer enough. The air between us shifted, sharp...