Liam's P.O.V.
The moment she spoke my name, my body went rigid. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out the quiet hum of conversation in the café. The rag slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft plop. I barely registered it.
She took a step forward, her silver eyes locked onto me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Liam," she repeated, her voice thick with something I couldn't quite place. Desperation? Relief? Possession?
I swallowed hard, my body tensing instinctively.
I barely had a second to react before she hurled herself at me, her arms locking around my waist in a crushing grip. Her face pressed into my chest, her body trembling with raw, broken sobs.
She smelled of sweat, her clothes damp—like she had been walking for miles. Or maybe running.
Her tears seeped through my sweater as she clung to me like I was the last solid thing in a world slipping away.
