I swallowed.
“I should call the police,” I said suddenly. “They should meet us at the apartment.”
The word hung there.
Kidnapping.
The driver’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel as we took a sharp turn, tires hissing against wet pavement.
Kane considered my suggestion without dismissing it.
“You can call,” he said evenly. “But once you do, this becomes official. Statements. Reports. Questions about why Rose had two lives.”
“I don’t care about that,” I snapped.
“I know you don’t. But you will care if Sabine is standing in that apartment and sees police surrounding the building. If she hears sirens. If she thinks she did something wrong.”
The image hit hard.
Sabine’s small face. Confused. Scared.
She was five.
“She’s already scared,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Kane agreed quietly. “Which is why we walk in calm first.”
His hand slid over mine again, steady and warm.
The certainty in his tone didn’t feel like bravado. It felt like a promise he had already decided to keep.
I looked at him.
He was focused. Like the storm outside was weather and nothing more.
My stomach twisted as we turned onto the familiar street.
The SUV slowed.
Rose’s building loomed ahead, stone façade slick with rain, windows dark and reflective.
No flashing lights.
No crowd.
Just quiet tension.
My pulse roared in my ears.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I admitted softly.
Kane turned to face me fully.
“You breathe,” he said. “You let me handle the edges.”
The edges.
The parts that cut.
