I looked down at my hands, rough and calloused from working long shifts at the diner.

I thought of Vesper, the magnificent horse currently standing in the trailer, recovering from a cruel betrayal.

I thought of Charles Vance, who had hunted me for two years, keeping me in a constant state of fear.

I did not want to run anymore.

“We are almost there,” Dante said, slowing the SUV as we approached a pair of massive wrought-iron gates.

The gates began to swing open automatically, controlled by an unseen guard.

The gravel road led up a winding hill toward a large stone manor, surrounded by dark pine trees.

To the left stood the high-security stables, their windows glowing with warm, soft light.

We pulled up to the stable doors, the gravel crunching under the heavy tires.

Dante turned off the engine, but he did not get out immediately.

He turned his head to look at me in the quiet cabin.

“If you stay,” Dante said quietly, “you will be in the middle of a war.”

“I am already in the middle of it,” I said, meeting his gaze.