“You—”
“Demyan gave me back what you all took from me at the clinic,” I whisper fiercely, my pulse thundering. “I always carry a gun.”
I don’t have time to explain further, not with glass still crunching under our knees and the air thick with danger.
Another beat of silence, then he nods once, jaw tight. No time for arguments, no time for anything but survival.
He gestures for me to stay low as he edges toward the window, movements sharp and precise, every line of his body screaming control. I cover him, finger steady on the trigger, heart screaming otherwise.
Niko peers out, eyes scanning the brightness beyond the broken glass. Nothing. Just the morning swallowing everything whole.
He pulls back, cursing under his breath, the muscles in his arm coiled tight as a spring.
Whoever it was—whoever dared fire at us—was already gone.
The door crashes open, and both Niko and I whirl, barrels aimed and ready. My finger tightens on the trigger.
“It’s me,” Demyan barks, one hand raised.
We lower our guns, but my pulse still thrums in my ears. Niko doesn’t relax—he never relaxes—but he eases his aim a fraction, the muscles in his forearm still tight as iron.
“We found a masked man in the cameras. Soldiers are already after him,” Demyan says, stepping inside. He doesn’t even glance at the shattered glass, like bullets flying at dawn is nothing new. “One of the men spotted him running. With luck, he won’t get far.”
Niko’s jaw works, silent and sharp.
Demyan shifts his gaze to me, then back to Niko. “For now, it’s better if she stays put. No wandering, no surprises.”
He’s not looking at me, but I can tell he’s talking about me.
Anger swirls in my belly. The words land like a cage snapping shut around me.Stay inside. Stay safe. Stay still.
But there’s no arguing, not when the evidence of violence is still around us—the shattered glass glittering across the floor, the sharp smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air.
Demyan lingers a moment longer, trading a silent look with Niko, then slips out, the door shutting behind him.
The second the lock clicks, I turn on Niko.
“What the hell was that?” My voice breaks, higher and sharper than I mean it to. “You promised me safety. You said marrying you would protect me, that I’d be shielded from all this, but look around—” I sweep my hand toward the broken window, the floor littered with glass shards. “Does this look like protection to you?”
He stands there, stone-faced, like I’m yelling into a wall.
“It doesn’t feel like safety, Niko. It feels like you’ve signed my death sentence.”
The words crack in the air between us. I don’t take them back.
Niko’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring. Then his voice detonates in the small room.
“You don’t need saving from anybody!” He jabs a finger toward the Glock still clutched in my hand. “Clearly, you’re more than capable of protecting yourself. So don’t stand there and act like I’m the one dragging you into danger.”
I flinch, but only because of the force in his tone—not the meaning of his words.
His eyes blaze as he steps closer. “You want to know why I married you, Noelle?” His voice drops, low and venomous. “So I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
The words hit like a slap, sharp and deliberate. I know he said it to wound me, to remind me of how precarious my place in his world is.
But instead of breaking, I feel a laugh bubble up, jagged and humorless. It cuts through the tension like glass on stone.
“Yes, of course,” I breathe, my lips curling in something that’s not quite a smile. “You don’t want to kill me because you’re so obsessed with me.”
