Ava couldn't sleep.She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, watching shadows from the street lamps outside dance across the plaster. Beside her—well, not exactly beside her, but in the same room—"Roman" slept in the armchair by the window. He'd insisted on sleeping there since coming home from the hospital, claiming the bed felt too unfamiliar, too intimate for someone who couldn't remember sharing it with her.At least, that's what he'd said.Now, in the darkness, Ava wondered if there were other reasons he avoided getting too close.She turned her head slightly, watching his silhouette. His breathing was steady, even. He looked peaceful.But Ava's mind was anything but peaceful.That tattoo.She kept seeing it in her mind—those interlocking triangles, the script woven between them. It had been visible for only a moment when Isabella turned to leave, but the image had burned itself into Ava's memory.Why did it feel so familiar?Ava slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, padding
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