The night air was dense, steeped in the kind of tension that left your lungs fighting to breathe.

Camilla stood by the open balcony door, Cyrus's silhouette framed by the silver sheen of moonlight. His jacket hung over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, jaw clenched tight. The quiet hum of the city below was no match for the storm swirling between them.

"What did you just say?" Camilla asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but razor sharp.

Cyrus stepped inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind him. "I said someone wants you dead. And it's not Louis."

Her heart thudded painfully. Her first instinct was...