The car rolled to a stop, and for a second the world outside blurred into streaks of city lights. I pressed my palms against the window, my reflection trembling there, like a ghost watching me. We had fled one ambush only to drive into another. I could feel it in the air—the strange stillness of predators waiting to pounce.

Dante cut the engine. He didn’t look at me right away. His hands stayed on the steering wheel, knuckles white, his jaw a hard line of fury and restraint. He was always like this after a firefight—still, silent, the storm pulled back behind his ribs. I hated how much I wanted...