The morning Lydia was due to arrive, the atmosphere inside the estate shifted completely. It wasn't just the extra security guards standing at every door with their grim, focused expressions; it was the way the house itself felt—tight, quiet, and clinical. Ava stood in the doorway of the study, watching Noah. He was usually a man who radiated calm, even when he was dangerous. But today, he was different. He was pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor. He wasn't checking his gun, and he wasn't looking at the maps or the reports about the man who was hunting them. Instead, he was obsessively adjusting the books on his shelf, moving them by millimeters to make sure they were perfectly aligned. He was checking the lighting, straightening the cushions, and looking at the room with a nervous, frantic energy. "She doesn't care if the books are straight," Ava said quietly, her voice echoing in the large room. Noah stopped pacing. He looked at her, and for just a second, the mask he
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