Chapter 55

• The rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock, usually a soothing presence, now felt jarring, a stark counterpoint to the sudden, sharp clang of shattering glass. Cleo jolted awake, her heart leaping into her throat. Rowan stirred beside her, his eyes instantly alert, scanning the room. The tranquility of their Boston townhouse was shattered. The source of the noise was unmistakable – their meticulously crafted bay window, overlooking the quiet, tree-lined street, was now a fractured ruin.
• A chilling premonition washed over Cleo. This wasn't a simple accident; this felt deliberate. The shards of glass glittered on the Persian rug, a cruel mockery of their carefully cultivated peace. Their sanctuary, painstakingly built from the wreckage of their pasts, had been violated. A knot of fear tightened in Cleo's stomach, a cold dread that seemed to seep into the very bones of the house.
• Rowan, ever the protector, was already moving, his movements fluid and efficient. He swept Cleo protectively behind him, his hand instinctively reaching for the small, concealed firearm tucked into his waistband. The air crackled with tension, the sudden intrusion shattering the idyllic calm of their morning. The gentle morning light that had previously illuminated their peaceful awakening now seemed to cast long, menacing shadows.