Alina’s POV

The hum of the ceiling fan and the weight of Dante’s arm across my waist should have been enough to anchor me into sleep. For hours, they had been. The soft rhythm of his breathing, the steady warmth at my back—it was the safest I’d felt in weeks.

But safety was always temporary.

The buzz of my phone cut through the quiet like a blade. It was sharp, urgent, insistent. At first I thought about ignoring it, burying my face deeper into the pillow, but something inside me knew.

The wrongness in the air pressed at my ribs until I reached for the phone on the nightstand.

One...