I looked down at our joined hands.

Dante didn’t let go.

Instead, he turned his body toward me, his eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t quite define.

“Sophia,” he began, his voice low and raspy.

Before he could finish, a soft chime broke the silence of the car.

It wasn’t Dante’s phone.

It was mine, tucked inside my coat pocket.

I pulled it out, the screen illuminating our faces with a cold blue light.

There was a text message from an unknown number.

My heart stopped as I read the words on the screen.

The screen showed a photo.

It was a picture of the front door of my old apartment, spray-painted with a jagged red circle.

Beneath the image, a single line of text read: *Nowhere is safe.*

I stared at the screen, my thumb trembling against the glass.

Dante reached over and gently took the phone from my hand.

His jaw clenched as he looked at the display, his thumb brushing over the screen.

“He is trying to pressure you,” Dante said, his voice flat and dangerous.