Page 125 of In Shadows We Dance

She’s my partner in this. My equal. My clever, reckless mafia princess who knew exactly what she was doing when she left those roses behind.

They don’t understand what lengths I’ll go to reclaim what’s mine.

She’s more than a fixation now. She’s become vital, like oxygen, like blood, like the darkness we both crave. The realization should make me want to walk away. Instead, it brings clarity.

Sharp. Focused. Absolute.

No federal interference, no protective father, nochaoswill keep me from following the path she’s left.

North west.

Time to hunt.

Time to show everyone exactly what happens when they try to take someone who wants me to catch them.

CHAPTER 63

Choosing Shadows

ILEANA

Ten minutes.

My mom’s words echo in my head as I bury my face into Wren’s hoodie. I haven’t taken it off since leaving his house. It’s my one remaining connection to him, to Silverlake Rapids, to the reminder that I’m real. I exist. The scent of his cologne is fading, but it’s still there, wrapping around me like a promise, as I stare out of the motel window, counting fireflies in the parking lot. Each one marks another obstacle, another place I could be seen.

Ten minutes to choose.

Safety or freedom. Invisibility or fire.

Agent Miller’s voice drones on the edge of my attention, listing extraction routes and safe houses. The sound twists something inside me. All those plans to make me disappear again. Toward undoing the fire Wren has sparked inside me.

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

Mom moves around the room, quiet like always, but her eyes keep finding me. I’ve never seen her look at me like this before. There’s fear, yes, but something else too. Understanding. Guilt. She knows what I’m about to do. She knows because she once made a similar choice.

I hold the memory of Wren tight, like the hoodie I refuse to let go of. The light in his eyes when he looked at me. Notthroughme. Not around me.Atme. He saw what I didn’t know was there. Something alive, burning just beneath the surface.

And now, I can’t unsee it either.

"They'll check the bus stations first," my mother says softly,not looking at me directly. "And the trains."

The words carry weight. Meaning. She's giving me information while keeping enough distance to deny it later.

I nod slightly, acknowledging the gift. We’ve spent a lifetime communicating through silence. It’s one of the only things we’ve ever shared.

Eight minutes.

My backpack sits near the bathroom door, stuffed with the few things I was allowed to bring. No phone. No cards. No real ID. Nothing that could be traced. Not that Ihaveany of those things. They thought they were making it harder for anyone to find me. Instead, they've made it easier for me to run.

"The agent stationed at the back," my mother continues, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear it, "he takes smoke breaks every thirty minutes."

Another gift. Another unspoken approval.

Seven minutes.

I think about the roses I left crossed on the floor, pointing north and west. The ruined ballet shoes placed in third position, echoing the same directions. A message only Wren would understand. Only Wren would be obsessive enough to decode … I hope.

He has to.

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