The call ended with a soft click, but the silence that followed was anything but soft.
His face didn't change. That was the terrifying part. No shouting. No slamming fists. Just a stillness so cold it made the air in the bedroom feel like winter steel.
Fury didn't flash across his features—it settled there, sharp and controlled, like a blade laid carefully on a table before a slaughter.
Inside, the woman who had been laughing and teasing him only minutes ago shrank into herself. She slid closer to the wall, pulling the quilt up to her chin as if it could shield her from what he might become. She didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe too loud.
Two months.
That was how long she had been with him. Long enough to understand that the quieter he was, the more dangerous the night would be. Long enough to know when to disappear.
And right now, the man standing on the balcony was no longer just a man.
