Alina’s POV

The house was too quiet.

I should have been grateful for the peace, but lately silence felt heavier than noise. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that soothed—it was the kind that reminded you of all the things left unsaid, all the fractures you kept pretending weren’t there.

Dante had gone out early that morning, promising to “take care of something,” and I hadn’t asked what. I was tired of asking. Tired of probing into a world that had left scars on me, tired of always bracing myself for answers that hurt more than ignorance.

So I sat at my desk in the office, papers spread around me,...