I took a slow step backward until the back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress.

“It is hard to sleep with the storm,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Marcus walked toward me, his leather shoes clicking quietly on the hardwood floor.

He stopped just a few feet away, examining my face with a cold, analytical gaze.

“You always did hate thunder,” he said, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead.

I flinched away from his touch, pressing myself further back against the bed.

His hand paused in the air, his fingers curling into a loose fist before he dropped it to his side.

“Still stubborn,” he murmured, a thin, humorless smile touching his lips.

“Why am I here, Marcus?” I asked.

“Because you belong with me, not hiding in the shadows of a common criminal,” he said.

He walked over to the window, looking out into the dark garden where the rain lashed against the glass.

My hand stayed clamped over my pocket, my fingers feeling the hard plastic edges of the transmitter.