Dante’s POV

Alina walked ahead of me as we left the office, her shoulders no longer dragging like the weight of the world was on them. She didn’t notice the small details—the way her step had gained a rhythm again, the way her head didn’t bow quite so heavily. But I noticed. I always noticed.

There was a quiet satisfaction in me, the kind that came not from deals closed or enemies silenced, but from seeing her breathe easier. My Alina—she’d carried storms alone for too long. If I could clear even a fragment of that sky for her, it was enough.

“Stop staring,” she muttered without turning, her hand...