“She could have—,” I whispered.
“I know.”
His thumb brushed under my eye, catching moisture I hadn’t realized was there.
The SUV continued through the wet streets, the caravan behind us tight and precise.
I glanced at Sabine.
Her eyes were open now, watching us with quiet curiosity.
She spoke softly.
“Est-ce mon oncle?”
The words were careful.
Is that my uncle?
I let out a shaky laugh.
Kane looked at me.
“She’s asking if you’re her uncle,” I translated, even though I figured he understood.
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Well,” he said gently, switching to careful French, accent rough but understandable. “Pas encore.”
Not yet.
Sabine studied him.
Then looked at me.
Her small brow furrowed thoughtfully.
I felt warmth bloom in my chest, fragile but real.
We were going to be okay.
The rain thinned further as we approached the quieter district near The Sanctuary. The streets were less crowded. More controlled.
The driver slowed slightly as we approached an intersection.
And then?—
Everything shifted.
Two black vehicles pulled out from a side street.
Too clean. Too synchronized.
They didn’t speed. They didn’t swerve. They simply positioned themselves in front of us.
Blocking.
My stomach dropped.
