(Sanya's POV)
We make plans to leave.
The words feel surreal even as Aaron—wearing Tyron's face but speaking with his own gentle voice—sits across from me at the small kitchen table in the cottage, his hands clasped together like he's holding something precious and fragile.
"We'll need to pack light," he says, and his eyes, Tyron's ice-blue eyes that should be cold and calculating, are warm and filled with a tenderness I haven't seen in so long it makes my chest ache. "Just the essentials. Clothes, documents, the money from your grandmother's inheritance."
I nod, but my hands shake as I wrap them around the cup of tea he made for me, the warmth seeping into my palms doing nothing to chase away the chill of fear that's settled deep in my bones.
"What if they come looking for us?" I ask
