Aurora Sage did not sleep. She couldn't. Not when her mind replayed every word the stranger had spoken, each one dripping with venomous truth and taunt.
He owns you already.
The sentence gnawed at her like a wound that refused to close. She had fought for years to remain untouchable, unclaimed, a blade sharpened only for herself. Yet tonight, she hadn't raised her knife. She hadn't silenced the threat with blood. She had hesitated—because Logan Mason's hand on her wrist had anchored her.
And that was the real danger.
Aurora paced the darkened hotel room while Logan sprawled across the bed, watching her with the sharp, unreadable focus of a predator at rest. He had discarded his shirt completely, his chest bare, his hair mussed, but his eyes tracked her every step like he was studying her as much as the man they had failed to kill.
"You're wasting energy," he drawled finally. "He's already gone."
Aurora's jaw tightened. "Not far enough."
