When Alina stepped outside, the air was unnervingly still, the silence of the night feeling like a physical weight pressing against her chest.
A sparkling silver car was neatly parked just outside their apartment complex, its polished surface catching the amber glow of the streetlights. At a glance, it was almost identical to Damian's high-end Sedan—the same aggressive lines, the same predatory stance.
For a heartbeat, hope flared in her chest, thinking perhaps Aizen had sensed her distress and was waiting for her. But she quickly tried to evade it; if Lucas or Aizen were inside, they would never let her go to the suburbs alone. They would report back to Damian instantly.
Yet, even as she tried to slink into the shadows, she couldn't shake the mental image of Kelvin—bloodied, broken, and gasping for breath in that horrifying photo. That image acted like a tether, pulling her toward the unknown.
