Aurora Sage never slept deeply. Not since the first kill. Not since the night she watched blood pool around her sister's neck and realized the world would never again be soft.
So when Logan stirred in his sleep beside her, murmuring something unintelligible, she was already half-awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, mind tangled in a snare of strategies and surveillance.
She rose without a sound.
Dawn hadn't broken yet. The penthouse was still cloaked in silence, save for the whisper of her bare feet against marble as she padded to the living room. She didn't bother with clothes. Just his shirt—unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled above her elbows, swallowing her curves in white cotton.
She needed air.
She pushed open the balcony doors, the city stretching beneath her in glittering quiet. Cold wind kissed her skin, but she didn't flinch. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on Kieran, on the Council, on the string of corpses in the East District and what message they were meant to send.
