The sharp sound froze her in place.
She turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowing. Daniel stood there, cool and unhurried, his hand still on the lock he'd just slid into place.
Her pulse spiked. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice low, sharp.
Daniel's gaze held hers—steady, unflinching, unreadable.
"Are you angry?" he asked, his voice dipping into that dangerously calm register that always sent shivers down her spine.
This wasn't the reaction he had expected from her. But watching her rise, dismiss him so easily, as if he were nothing more than an obstacle in her path—it ignited something in him. He couldn't let her walk away, not when she had this uncanny ability to shake his composure every time.
Anna, meanwhile, let her eyes linger across his face. The concern etched faintly in his expression was impossible to ignore. And yet, instead of fueling her fury, it tugged something unbidden at her chest.
So she did what she did best—masked it.
