Like trying to balance an inverted pyramid on the tip of a sword, the equilibrium was fragile, the tranquility an illusion masking a frozen fury and a mind tormented by its own downfall. Both Katherine and Lucía knew it.
A tacit agreement formed between them at that moment—a pair of shared glances, a small waist held by a firm hand, tense shoulders ready to spring into action. They had to seize the brief clarity offered by Jonathan's ghost, but neither of them fooled themselves into believing they were safe.
Katherine still felt exhausted—something within her that had once burned like a bonfire was now nothing more than embers struggling for a second breath. Even so, the redhead clung to every warm memory she had shared with the Blackthorn brothers and drew strength from them. The grip around her waist became her anchor and, in a way, her comfort, knowing that even if she spent everything she had left within her, she would collapse straight into Lucía's arms.
