The night air bit at Aria's skin as she stepped onto the terrace. She needed space, distance from the glittering crowd and the questions simmering in Darius's eyes.
She leaned against the stone railing, letting the city stretch out below — a web of lights and secrets.
"You shouldn't be out here alone."
The voice slid from the shadows, deep and edged. Aria turned sharply. A man in a dark suit stood at the far end of the terrace, a glass in one hand, the other tucked casually in his pocket.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing her voice steady.
"I'm sure you are," he replied, stepping closer. "But fine doesn't last long in this city… not for someone in your position."
Aria's fingers curled against the railing. "And what position is that?"
He smiled without warmth. "The wife of a man who's made more enemies than you can count. You've just painted a target on your back, Mrs. King."
Her pulse quickened, but she refused to look away. "If this is some kind of warning—"
"It's not a warning," he cut in. "Warnings give you time. I'm giving you truth. Darius can't protect everyone he cares about. Eventually, someone slips through."
He drained his glass, set it on the railing, and turned to leave. But at the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder.
"When the day comes, remember I tried to tell you."
And then he was gone, leaving only the echo of his words and the thrum of her heartbeat.
Behind her, the sound of footsteps — heavier, familiar. She turned to see Darius, his expression dark, searching her face.
"What did he say to you?" he demanded.
Aria met his gaze, a dozen sharp retorts on her tongue. But what came out was quieter. "That I'm in more danger than I realize. And that you can't save everyone."
The muscle in Darius's jaw flexed. He didn't deny it.