107: Where The Predator Waits.

Naomi’s POV

Later that night, our small guesthouse felt smaller than usual. Bali’s warm air seeped through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of salt and flowers.

I sat on the edge of the bed, restless, fingers tapping the sheets, phone clutched in my palm. I had already texted the woman—the one who left the card—asking for a precise location, but now my thumb hovered nervously over the keyboard again.

Dean appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray with two plates of steaming food. The smell of garlic and spices hit me, but I barely noticed it. My chest tightened as he set it down.

“Food,” he said, raising an eyebrow at my restless pacing.

I forced a smile, sliding my phone under the pillow just in time. Lucky—I had deleted the message thread. Dean didn’t notice, but his hawk-like instincts had me tense anyway. He had this way of knowing, of seeing everything.

“Thanks,” I said softly, letting him hand me my plate..

“Phone,” he said suddenly.

My head jerked up. “What?”

His ton