A cold, damp sensation pressed against Gracelynn’s cheek as she slowly regained consciousness. Her head throbbed, her limbs heavy as if weighted down by invisible chains. A shiver crawled down her spine as she took a breath—musty air filled her lungs, thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic.

The chill of the morning clung to Gracelynn’s skin as she stepped out of her apartment building, pulling her coat tighter around her frame. The city was already alive—horns blaring, people rushing past, steam rising from the street grates—but she felt detached, like she was moving in slow motion while everything else sped past her.

Gracelynn dragged herself into the coffee shop, running purely on adrenaline and stubbornness. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and the scent of freshly brewed espresso did nothing to fight off the exhaustion clinging to her body. She had barely closed her eyes all night, her mind tangled between the heat of Aaron’s touch and the ice-cold reality of the cartel’s warning.

Gracelynn stood in front of her mirror, holding up two different dresses—one classic and elegant, the other bold and daring. The latter was a short, curve-hugging red dress she hadn’t worn in ages, but Emily’s voice through the speakerphone left no room for debate.

The morning sun was already creeping through the cracks of the blinds when they left that apartment. Gracelynn followed him silently down the narrow staircase, her thoughts tangled in the events of the past twenty-four hours. It was hard to keep everything straight—the cartel, Emily, the strange man at the coffee shop... and Aaron. Especially Aaron.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds in Aaron’s apartment, casting a warm glow across the room. Gracelynn stirred, the soft hum of the city outside reminding her of where she was. For a moment, everything felt calm, almost normal. Aaron lay beside her, his arm draped loosely across her waist. His hazel eyes were closed, his face relaxed in a way she rarely saw.

Gracelynn couldn’t sleep. The ticking of the clock on Aaron’s wall seemed louder than her own heartbeat, its rhythm matching the anxiety thrumming through her veins. She lay on his couch, wrapped in one of his blankets, staring up at the ceiling. The faint glow of city lights filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls.

Aaron stepped into the dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn, his jaw clenched and his pulse steady, though he could feel the weight of Miguel’s message like a noose tightening around his neck. The air was thick with the scent of oil and dust, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound.

The door to the coffee shop swung closed behind Aaron, leaving a noticeable void in its wake. Gracelynn stood frozen for a moment, her rag limp in her hand. It wasn’t just his presence that lingered—it was the way he made her feel like the ground beneath her feet wasn’t entirely steady.

The bar pulsed with life, the kind of energy only New York City could conjure on a Saturday night. Music thumped from unseen speakers, and the warm hum of conversation filled every pocket of space not already occupied by laughter or clinking glasses. The smell of spilled drinks and citrus from the bartenders’ mixers swirled through the air.