And then he almost looks disappointed.
Like the kiss was supposed to mean something else.
That’s the problem. Falling into him like this is dangerous.I know it. I’ve always known it. I told myself it had to stop, told myself last night was just muscle memory and bad judgment and proximity. One more fuck won’t hurt, I said. The bathroom would be the end of it.
Then Frank’s place happened. Hours of it. Like we’d never learned how to stop.
Now the train sways, and the movement pushes us together again. My shoulder presses into his chest. His hand is still at my hip, steadying me like it belongs there. The stupid wig itches under the cap, hot and wrong and not mine, and the urge to rip it off nearly makes me feral.
This time it actually has to end.
Because this doesn’t end with tears or regret. It ends with a body bag. Caring is how you die in this line of work. Caring is the split second of hesitation before the blade goes in your ribs. Caring is trusting the wrong mouth, the wrong bed, the wrong promise. I’ve seen lovers turn on each other over contracts, over money, over survival.
Trust is a luxury. We don’t get luxuries.
The train slows. Terminal F flashes overhead.
My pulse spikes anyway.
The doors open, and travelers pour out like nothing is wrong with the world. Like no one just scoped us on a platform. Alejandro looks down at me before we move.
“The plan stays the same.”
I snort under my breath and step forward. Yeah right. He just jinxed us. The universe heard that and immediately started sharpening knives.
We move with the crowd, but my awareness sharpens, edges clicking into place. I scan reflections inglass. Watch hands. Count exits. If Silas Crow was here, others could be too. Chicago would be the place to catch me. Airport. Transit choke points. High density. Easy disappearances.
But only if they knew I was still here.
I burned my sigil two days ago. The second we reached Frank’s, I was off the map. I could’ve left the city an hour later. Taken a train west. Gone underground. There was no tether left for them to follow.
And yet Silas Crow was on that platform, scanning faces like he wasn’t guessing. Like he knew his mark hadn’t gone far.
My bounty’s open. Bigger than it’s ever been.
That kind of money doesn’t sit blind.
The realization slips in cold and unwelcome.
They didn’t track me.
They were told.
I glance at Alejandro, his profile calm, unreadable. His broker handled the IDs. The tickets. The timing. All of it clean. Professional. Too clean.
If I misread him… if I misread who he trusted…
Then this isn’t magic or luck or coincidence.
I adjust the strap of my bag and keep walking, jaw tight, gum popping once, sharp. We’re off the train now, swallowed by the terminal.
Plan stays the same.
Sure.
For about thirty more seconds.
The escalator lifts us into the terminal, and the first thing waiting at the top is the flight board. Big. Bright. Impossible to ignore. I let my gaze hit it like I’m just another irritated traveler checking a delay.
