EMBER’S POV
It’s bigger than I expected — industrial, clearly some kind of converted warehouse, but someone has made an effort to make it livable.
There’s a couch, a kitchen area, a table covered in papers and tablets and what look like security reports.
Knox is standing at the counter with his back to me, dressed in fresh clothes, his hair still damp. He’s gripping the edge of the counter hard enough that his knuckles have gone white.
He turns when he hears me.
And stops.
His gaze travels down my body slowly — the oversized shirt, the bare legs, the obvious lack of anything underneath — and when his eyes meet mine again, they’re burning gold.
Then he bolts across the room.
One second there’s space between us, and the next he has me pinned against the wall, his hands slamming on ei
