Her breath trembles, but she listens. I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “This isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you safe. If I have to drag you from the fire to do it, I will. Because I’d rather have you angry with me, alive, than lose you to him.”
Noelle swallows, her lips parting. “What about my ID? Can we still go get it?”
I press another kiss to her forehead, softer this time, a smile tugging faintly at my mouth. “Yes. But only after we reach the safe house first. I’ll have Demyan search the clinic and bring it back to you. Is that okay?”
Her shoulders drop just slightly, a weary kind of acceptance. “Yes.”
“Okay.” I brush my knuckles down her cheek before pulling away. “Come.” I lace my fingers through hers and lead her back toward our room. “Pack your things. I’ll go find Demyan, get the cars ready.”
Her silence follows me as I turn, but this time it isn’t a wall—it’s trust, fragile and heavy, and I carry it like a vow.
Once I’m sure she’s safe in the room, the door shut behind her, I force myself to walk away. My chest is tight, my pulse sharp. I need movement, something to burn the edge off, but there’s no time. I head upstairs, following the faint thud of iron against mats until I find Demyan in the gym, sweat rolling down his temples as he presses a bar back onto the rack.
“Get the cars ready,” I tell him without preamble. My voice is steel. “We’re heading out. Noelle and I. One of the safe houses.”
Demyan grabs a towel, wiping his face, frowning. “What happened? Everything alright?”
I step closer, lowering my tone but not my intensity. “We found a burner in her coat pocket. Wiped clean, but the metadata pinged Anton’s crew two nights ago.”
His brows knit, the casualness draining from him in an instant. “Fuck.”
“Exactly,” I growl. My fists itch to break something, but I steady them at my sides. “He planted it on her. One way or the other. Which means he’s closer than I thought, and I’m not gambling with her safety.”
Demyan studies me for a beat, then nods. No hesitation. “I’ll get the cars ready.”
“Good,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. The fury doesn’t cool, but at least it has direction now.
I head back to our room, every step tight with impatience. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed when I come in, her small suitcase open, clothes folded in neat little stacks. I cross to the dresser and start pulling out my own things, shoving shirts and spare weapons into a bag. It feels wrong—packing like this, like we’re running. But I remind myself it’s temporary. A move, not a retreat.
The silence between us is heavy, but not cold. She glances at me from time to time, and when our eyes meet, I give her a faint smile, something to reassure her even as my insides burn with the thought of Anton’s game.
Nearly twenty minutes pass before there’s a knock at the door. Demyan steps in with two of the guards, all business. They collect our luggage quickly, efficiently. Noelle rises, handingover her bag without a word, her eyes flicking to mine as if to ask, Are we really doing this?
“Yes,” I murmur under my breath, close enough that only she hears.
Demyan gives me a sharp nod once the last bag is taken. Then he closes the door behind him, leaving us alone again.
The quiet returns, thicker this time. Just me, her, and the reality of leaving everything behind for a safer shadow.
I study her face, needing to know, needing to hear it from her lips. “Are you afraid?”
She surprises me—again. Instead of shrinking or trembling, her mouth softens into the widest smile I’ve seen from her yet. It lights her whole face, pulling me under like gravity. “I was. But whenever I’m with you….” She brushes her fingers along my arm, light as silk. “…I feel safe.”
The words rip straight through me. I feel them in my chest, my ribs tightening around them like a vice. Nobody’s ever said that to me—and meant it. I take her hand and press it to my lips, my voice coming out low, rough. “You are safe. I’ll protect you, Noelle. That’s the only thing you’ll ever need to know.”
She studies me for a beat, eyes searching, soft but sharp. “Will they catch him? Anton?”
“They will,” I say, tone clipped with certainty. “Lukin, Adrian, Lev—they’re all on it. It’s only a matter of time.”
She exhales, almost like she believes me. But inside, my gut twists. Because the truth is, if it wasn’t for her, Anton would already be nothing but ash. I’d have found him, dragged him through the dirt, and slit his throat for daring to even whisper her name.
But every time I try to pull away—to focus, to plan—she distracts me. She owns me. The feel of her hand on mine, the way her eyes soften when I say her name—it unravels me. Ishould be plotting Anton’s death, but instead I’m counting her breaths, memorizing the curve of her smile.
I’m weaker with her. Stronger, too—but in all the wrong ways.
My gaze lingers on her lips, parted as if she’s about to ask another question, and I know I’m lost. I can’t bring myself to leave her side long enough to be the man who hunts Anton. I always want her near, within reach. She steadies me, and yet she’s the one thing standing between me and the war I should already be ending.
And the worst part is, I don’t care. Not enough to change.
