Page 67 of Crown Of Blood

The city blurs past the window, sunlight flickering between the buildings. For the first time since I came into Dante's world, I'm leaving it by choice.

I tell myself it's only a meeting.

That I'll see Danny, straighten out the mess, and come back before they even notice I'm gone.

But underneath the lie, a knot of unease won't let go.

Because if there's one thing I've learned in Dante Moretti's world, nothing that starts with good intentions ever ends that way.

The streets outside my building feel too quiet —the kind that hums beneath the surface, as if the city is holding its breath.

I climb the stairs instead of taking the elevator, the air heavy, my pulse quickening the higher I go.

By the time I reach my door, I'm already rehearsing what I'll say—how I'll convince Danny that I'm okay, that he doesn't need to worry, that everything's finally settling.

Except it isn't.

And maybe he'll hear that, even if I don't say it.

The lock clicks open.

He's standing in the middle of the living room, back to me.

He turns too fast when he hears the door.

"Danny?"

He crosses the space in three strides, pulling me into a hug so tight it steals the air from my lungs.

"God, Isa." His voice shakes against my hair. "I've been so worried about you."

I freeze for a second before forcing a breath. "I'm fine."

He leans back, hands still gripping my arms like he's afraid I'll disappear. His eyes are bloodshot, darting everywhere but my face. There's a twitch in his jaw I don't remember seeing before.

"You shouldn't have gone to him," he mutters. "You shouldn't have stayed there."

The words land cold.

I step back a little. "What are you talking about?"

"Dante Moretti." He spits the name like poison. "He's dangerous, Isa. Keeping you locked up in that house, away from everyone? You think that's protection?"

Something in me stills.

"Danny," I say slowly, carefully, "how do you know I've been with Dante?"

His mouth opens, closes. "You told me."

"No," I whisper. "I didn't."

His eyes flick away. His shoulders rise, fall. "You must've forgotten. You told me when you called me."

"I never told you."

For a long, horrible second, the air between us goes sharp.

He exhales hard through his nose and turns away, pacing toward the window.