Dante’s POV

I wanted to see her face when she realized the futility of it—how the world outside wasn’t hers anymore, how even a car in the garage was just another cage with wheels. Watching her tremble when I opened the door and plucked the keys from her hands… it told me more about her than months of silence ever could.

The second time, though? That burned.

Because she’d been patient. Careful. She’d studied me, mapped the house, waited until the rain and thunder masked her movements. She wasn’t just testing the boundaries anymore—she wanted out.

And for a moment, in the dark stormlight, I saw it in her eyes:...