Too tight.
I stopped breathing for half a second. Panic shot through my chest like a flare. Not because he hurt me—but because he could.
Nikolai stopped too.
Just one breath behind me.
He turned, slow and deliberate, his whole body still—but charged like a fuse waiting for a spark. “Don’t touch her.”
His voice was low. Controlled. But I felt the temperature of the room drop ten degrees.
Mikel hesitated. His face flickered—shock, confusion, like he couldn’t believe Nikolai didn’t need to shout to be threatening.
But Nikolai didn’t blink. His eyes were steel. Still. Waiting.
“Let her go,” he said again.
Not louder. Just deadlier.
He didn’t posture. He didn’t puff up. He just was. And suddenly Mikel’s grip didn’t feel so certain anymore.
I felt his hand falter just enough.
I pulled back, twisting free with a single motion. Simple. Clean.
But not painless.
Not when I caught the look in Mikel’s eyes—the storm, the betrayal, the fury.
It hit something in me I hadn’t braced for.
But I didn’t let it stop me.
I stepped toward Nikolai.
And when he shifted slightly, almost like he was moving in front of me—shielding me without asking—I let him.
I let myself breathe.
One breath. Then another.
I didn’t look back.
Chapter 4
Nikolai
Our footsteps echoed down the corridor—hers fast, clipped, like she was trying to outrun something. Maybe him. Maybe herself. Maybe me.
The noise of the arena faded behind us. Just distant thunder now. Unimportant.
I walked a pace behind, eyes sharp. She moved like a soldier retreating from battle—composed, but barely. I saw the way her wrist flinched every few steps, the one he grabbed. Her shoulders were coiled tight, breath shallow. But she didn’t crumble.
No theatrics. No tears.
Just silence. Controlled. Hard.
“Car’s this way,” I said.
