Aiden hadn't slept well. For the first time in what felt like ages, his usually dreamless rest had been plagued by disjointed nightmares—flashes of things going horribly wrong. His instincts, honed over years of navigating uncertainty, were screaming that something wasn't right and might go horribly wrong. That unease stayed with him, as the hours of the night crawled by making him unable to sleep.
He didn't know if these mightmares were a result of anxiety because of Ella and his father or something else entirely. Something, a niggling doubt, seemed to remind him that he was missing something. But he could not remember what that was.
And then, when he sensed someone entering his room just before dawn, every nerve in his body went taut and once again, he forgot his niggling doubts. He didn't move but remained perfectly still, his breathing slow and measured, as he prepared himself for whatever—or whoever—might dare to come in,
