The dawn was hesitant, pale streaks of light bleeding into the mist that clung stubbornly to the cliffs and the dense forest below. Isabella awoke to the muffled roar of waves far beneath the precipice, the sound familiar yet somehow more ominous this morning. Dante lay beside her, steady and silent, a watchful presence even in sleep. She traced the line of his jaw with a fingertip, marveling at the tautness of his muscles, the calm power that radiated from him as if the world could crumble around him and he would remain unshaken. And yet, here, in the sanctuary they had carved together, he was hers—completely, undeniably hers—and that...