Chapter 114

Harper

Declan walked ahead, knife still in hand, his shoulders tight beneath his shirt. Every so often he glanced back to make sure I was there, his gaze sharp but unreadable. I stayed close like he’d told me, my fingers brushing his sleeve, because somehow, being able to feel him made the dark less suffocating.

We hadn’t gone far—maybe fifty feet—when movement flickered ahead.

Declan stopped dead