"Don't move—Stella, hide!" Kaden's whisper smashed through my door before he did. He was on my windowsill, boots scraping plaster. He wore his old field jacket and a grin that never reached his eyes when he thought I needed scaring awake. "You're a hazard to all of us in pajamas," he said. "Why are you sleeping with a sewing kit, seriously?" "I wasn't sleeping," I said. My voice came out rough. I hugged the needle tin to my chest, hiding the thin bandage under my palm. Kaden crawled in like he owned the place. He dropped beside me and elbowed the tin. "You know the drill. If anyone smells stitching, we have to pretend we don't see fabric. This is a safehouse, not a tailor shop." "Don't make that joke," I told him. "Not tonight." He kept his voice low. "What woke you?" I pictured the dream and didn't say the whole thing. I blinked and gave him a single line. "The harbor sounded like glass." Kaden's hand went to my shoulder and the pressure steadied me. "Good. Then stay put. I'll sweep the alley, check the drop. No hero moves, Stella." He said it with a mock-serious tone that left no room for argument. "You're not exactly family," I said. "Not by blood. By job title," he replied. "Now stay put." I watched him go. The door clicked. His boots were a pattern on the hallway tiles