Aria didn't sleep that night.
How could she?
Caspian had dropped a truth on her chest heavy enough to crack bone—her mother wasn't just gone, she was taken. Hunted. Eliminated like she was a loose thread in someone else's war.
And now Aria was the thread they wanted to cut next.
She sat at the edge of the guest room bed—his guest room, though nothing about it felt temporary anymore—staring at the moonlit window. Below, the city glittered like a thousand secrets trying to look pretty.
The door clicked softly.
Caspian's silhouette filled the frame.
He didn't enter immediately.
He just… stood there, watching her like she was something fragile and dangerous at the same time.
"Can't sleep?" he asked softly.
Aria looked down at her hands. "Would you?"
He exhaled a quiet, humorless sound. "No."
He stepped inside. The shadows shifted with him, wrapping around his tall frame. His shirt was undone at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms—proof he hadn't slept either.
Aria swallowed. "Were you waiting for me to break?"
His jaw tightened. "I was waiting to see if you'd let me help you stand."
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
"You keep doing that," she whispered.
"Doing what?"
"Making it hard to hate you."
Caspian's eyes flickered—something raw, something unguarded.
"I don't want you to hate me," he said quietly.
"But I'd rather you hate me than fear me."
Aria shook her head. "I don't fear you."
He stepped closer.
"You should," he said. Not as a threat—more like a warning he hated giving.
Aria's breath hitched. "Because of what happened to your family?"
"No." He swallowed. "Because of what's happening to you."
Silence thickened between them.
Caspian sat beside her, slow, like approaching a wounded animal. Close enough she could feel the warmth of his body, far enough she could run if she wanted—which somehow made her trust him more.
"You think my mother hid something," Aria murmured. "You think I'm the only loose end left."
Caspian looked at her, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something deeper.
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
Her heart stuttered. "Why?"
He hesitated—one second, two—then:
"Because we found something."
Aria froze. "Found what?"
Caspian reached into his jacket pocket and placed a small, black velvet pouch in her hand. Heavy. Cold. Foreboding.
Her fingers shook as she opened it.
Inside was a ring.
Not just any ring—
A woman's band.
Simple, silver, aged.
With a symbol carved inside the inner rim:
V.
Valentini.
Aria stared. "This… this isn't my mother's."
"No," Caspian said softly. "It was my sister's."
Aria's blood went cold.
"We found it in the wreckage of your mother's car," Caspian said, voice low and grim. "Hidden under the floor panel. Wrapped in gauze. Protected."
Aria's breath left her body.
"My mother… saved it?"
"She died trying to keep someone's attention off something bigger," Caspian said. "And Isabella's ring… it wasn't the only thing she hid."
Aria's pulse thundered. "Then where is the rest? Where's the file?"
Caspian looked at her with something like dread and certainty intertwined.
"That's what we need to find," he said.
"And the people hunting you… believe the answer is in your mother's things."
Aria shook her head desperately. "I don't— I don't have anything. No files, no secrets. Just a storage box of her old things and—"
Her breath stopped.
Caspian leaned closer. "And?"
Aria swallowed hard. "And a notebook."
Caspian stilled. "What kind of notebook?"
"A black one," she whispered. "I never opened it. I thought it was… personal. Her journal."
Caspian's eyes sharpened.
"Aria," he said slowly, carefully.
"Where is it?"
She hesitated.
Then—
"The notebook is in my old apartment."
Caspian's expression darkened instantly. "Your apartment isn't safe. Not anymore."
Aria stood, breath shaking. "Then we have to get it before they do."
He rose too—towering, protective, sharp.
"You're not going anywhere alone," he said. "Not now. Not ever."
His hand found her wrist, firm but gentle, as if anchoring her in place.
Aria looked up at him, heart pounding with fear and something dangerously close to trust.
"Then take me," she whispered.
Caspian's voice dropped, rough as gravel.
"I will."
And somewhere in the city, as if on cue—
a car engine rumbled outside.
Slow.
Waiting.
Watching the Valentini penthouse.
Caspian's gaze snapped toward the window.
"They're already here."