Kiera woke to the sound of rain.
It tapped softly against the glass at first, then harder, like fingers growing impatient. She lay still, listening, letting the rhythm pull her back into herself. For a brief moment—just one—she forgot about ledgers and watchers and men who built empires out of broken people.
Then she remembered.
She turned her head. Kade wasn't beside her.
The bed was cold where he should have been.
She sat up, heart tightening, and listened again. The penthouse was quiet, but not empty-quiet. It had a pulse to it now. Like something alive and alert.
She found him in the kitchen.
He stood barefoot on the marble floor, sleeves rolled up, hair damp as if he'd run his hands through it too many times. A mug sat untouched in front of him. The city was just beginning to gray at the edges, dawn fighting through the storm.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
He didn't turn. "Neither did you."
She moved closer, resting her hip against the counter. "You were pacing."
