Chapter 80

• The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that came after a long, tense day. The children had gone to bed, their laughter and footsteps replaced by the faint creaks of the old floorboards. In the living room, Maya sat curled on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest. She stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, lost in thought.
• Rafael entered the room, his footsteps soft but purposeful. He paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on Maya. Her silhouette was illuminated by the firelight, her shoulders hunched as though carrying a weight too heavy to bear. He felt the familiar ache of guilt in his chest—guilt for the secrets he kept, for the danger that seemed to follow him no matter how hard he tried to leave it behind.
• “Maya,” he said softly.