Chapter 8 — Too Close to Hide

Nina pov

The house sounds different at night.

Not quieter—deeper. Like the walls have learned how to listen without reacting. I’m in the kitchen, barefoot on cool stone, rinsing a mug that doesn’t need rinsing. It’s something to do with my hands. Something ordinary.

Dante leans against the counter across from me, jacket off now, sleeves rolled again. The light catches the edge of his forearm when he shifts. He watches without staring, the way he does—attention angled, never consuming.

“You don’t have to clean,” he says.

“I know,” I answer. “I just… am.”

That earns a small nod. Not approval. Understanding.

Mariela’s voice drifts from somewhere down the hall, speaking quietly into a phone. The cadence is all business. It fades. The house settles back into itself.

I dry my hands and turn, resting my hip against the counter. We stand there, close enough to share the same pocket of air, far enough that neither of us has to account for it.

“You were quiet on the drive,” Dante says.

“I was l