Stronger.
More dangerous.
Gideon.
The way he’d looked at her. The promise in his voice.
Then I burn it all down.
Her fingers flexed slightly.
She wasn’t here for indulgence, only a moment to breathe.
A slow inhale.
A long exhale.
The simple act of breathing.
?
Wrapped in the low clatter of clinking mugs and whispered conversation, in the comfort of baked vanilla and dark roast, Arden allowed herself the smallest reprieve.
Her shoulders eased slightly as she placed her order, the warmth of the café sinking into her skin like filtered sunlight on a cold day.
The barista slid a cup and saucer toward her, and beside it—a rose.
She stilled.
A single stem. Deep red. Impossibly perfect.
Out of place.
It wasn’t the rose itself that made her pulse lurch.
It was the contrast.
Here, in this café with its soft lighting and cozy charm, the rose didn’t feel romantic.
It felt wrong.
It didn’t belong.
Arden’s fingers hovered above the stem, her expression sharpening as she looked up. “What’s this?”
The barista barely glanced at her, pivoting to the next order. “Guy came in. Said to make sure it got to a woman named Arden.” His tone was bored. Unconcerned. “That’s you, right?”
A slow ripple of unease crept beneath her skin.
“Did he leave a name?” she asked, voice quieter now. More precise. “Did he say anything else?”
The guy shrugged, wiping down the counter with practiced detachment. “Nope. Just said you’d know what it meant.”
Her stomach turned.
You’d know what it meant.
But she didn’t.
