The tires screeched against gravel before the car finally came to a stop. The world outside was dark, silent, an expanse of forest stretching endlessly under a bruised sky.
Isabella pressed her trembling hand to the window, her reflection ghosted by moonlight.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
Damian didn't answer immediately. He killed the engine, the hum dying like a heartbeat cut short.
His gaze lingered on the road behind them, scanning for headlights, for shadows that shouldn't move.
"Far enough," he muttered. "For now."
When he stepped out, the cold hit her like a slap.
The night smelled of pine and rain.
Damian came around to her side, opening the door with that controlled impatience that always made her heart stutter.
He offered his hand not gently, but as if daring her not to take it.
She did.
They walked toward a private stone villa half-hidden by ivy, its windows dark, its roof bent under years of solitude.
