Page 118 of In Shadows We Dance

I shake my head, my voice steady with newfound resolve. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me disappear again.”

My father steps toward me, his eyes softening. “Ileana, please?—”

“Stop calling me that.” I can’t stand it anymore. “My name is Isabella. That’s who I am, isn’t it? Isabella Rossi. How many other lies have you told me? How many truths are you still keeping from me?”

Mom stumbles back, her face crumbling. My father reaches for her, but she pulls away, like my words have burned through something between them. I look at them both, and the silence that follows feels like the edge of a cliff.

“How much of my life is even real?”

Neither of them answer. They can’t.

“I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.” I turn and walk back to my room, shaking with everything I’m holding inside. When I close the door behind me, I press my back to it, and slide to the floor.

Through the thin wood, Miller’s voice reaches me, cold and clear. “This isn’t optional, James.”

My lips twist. Let them try to move me. Let them think they can keep deciding my life. I won’t let them bury me in their lies again.

I press my palm to my throat, holding it in place the way Wren does.

For the first time in my life, I know who I am, and I’m not letting them take that away from me.

I’m done being invisible. I’m done being afraid.

I’m done letting other people decide who I get to be.

CHAPTER 60

When Prey Escapes

WREN

Something is wrong.

The second I pull onto the drive, I know it. There's an unmarked black sedan parked beyond the gates. Deep enough to almost disappear, but not quite. Someone wants me to see it.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as I drive past, my gaze fixed on the rearview mirror. The car doesn't move. The message is clear. They’re waiting for me.

I take my time parking the car, and walking to the front door, keys spinning around my finger while I catalog the details. Federal vehicle. Positioned to block an exit if needed. Likely an armed agent behind the wheel. This is an intimidation visit, and there’s nothing subtle about it. It’s a warning.

The house is dark when I step inside. Not empty, though. Silence has a particular weight, and I know how this house feels when there’s no one here. I live in that emptiness every single day. Tonight, someone else's presence is changing the atmosphere. I hit the lights and move through the rooms, the sensation of being watched prickling at my skin, drawing me toward the living room.

He’s there.

A man sitting in an immaculate suit sits in one of the armchairs, hands clasped, waiting like he’s done this before. He doesn't move when I enter, doesn't blink, but his stare tracks me.

“You’re trespassing.” I lean against the doorframe.

“From where I’m sitting, this is a courtesy call.” His voice is measured, but edged with steel.

“Who are you?”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a badge. The flash of it disappears as quickly as it appears. “Agent Miller. FBI.”

"You've been busy, Mr. Carlisle."

"Have I?" I keep my voice neutral, while tension winds my stomach tight.

“Don’t play dumb.” Miller unfolds himself from the chair. “You’ve been poking around sealed records. Surveillance. Names that are supposed to stay buried.” He pauses, and his gaze locks onto mine. “The Moreno family.”

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