“Jesus, chill, man, we were just suggesting,” he says, trying to keep it light. But it doesn’t touch the coil of tension tightly wound inside me.
I’ve got enough on my plate, and I don’t need to worry about them showing up, playing house, and getting themselves killed in the process.
A single thought cuts through me, sharp as a blade. Anger surges up, tangled with the restless discomfort hummingbeneath my skin. This city feels like it belongs to me and Estella—ours, carved in heat and violence and something neither of us dares to name. I don’t want anyone barging in, offering advice and reshaping it with their own rules.
“Is there something you want to get off your chest?” Lucia’s voice drifts faintly through the line. I shut my eyes tight, as if I can squeeze the irritation out of my skull. “We’re here, you know. You don’t have to deal with this alone.”
But that’s exactly the point. Iwantto deal with this alone. I need space—to think, to breathe, to untangle whatever the fuck is happening inside me.
After years of drifting, years of functioning on instinct and purpose without ever questioning why, something finally cracked open. It feels like I’ve clawed my way out of a cold, endless ocean, and now, for the first time, I’m tasting air that burns with salt and something dangerously alive. These new feelings confuse me, overwhelm me, but I’d take them over the numbness I lived in before.
Trying to explain that to them would be impossible. They see the world in black, white, and the safest shade of gray. They never look deeper, never acknowledge the diluted darkness—the kind that sits at the bottom of a well, impenetrable yet glinting faintly with something waiting to beunderstood.
“I’m fine. Really. And I appreciate the concern,” I say at last. “I need to get back to fixing this place. Talk later, okay?”
“Take care.”
I pull the phone from my ear and hit the red button with more force than necessary. The sharp chime rings out, and relief sweeps through me like a slow exhale as I make my way to the suitcases.
I crouch down, fingers brushing the zipper of the first one, when a sudden knock rattles the door. My jaw clamps tight as frustration spikes. What I want—what Ineed—is to pull outEstella’s files, sink into them, and spend the rest of the day unraveling every thread of her past over and over again. The obsession is already rooted deep, and with every hour, it grows sharper, heavier, more consuming.
Whoever is interrupting me now is about to earn a punch to their fucking face.
I stalk toward the door, grip the handle, and yank it open, irritation carved into every line of my expression. But the moment I see who’s standing on the threshold, the anger falters, confusion slipping in to take its place.
Cane fucking Smith.
He’s wearing that shit-eating grin he always saves for moments before he starts dissecting a mission. “May I come in?” he asks, jutting his chin past my shoulder.
A rhetorical question if I’ve ever heard one. “Sure,” I force out, stepping aside.
He walks in like he owns the place, confidence trailing behind him on the sharp scent of his cologne. I close the door, shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants, and follow.
“Nice flat,” he says, glancing around before flicking his gaze back to me, eyebrows lifting in amusement. “And a nice choice of city. Barcelona is a wonderful place to live in.”
I can hear the undercurrent beneath his words, subtle but unmistakable—a probe, a test, a little hook to drag out whatever reaction he’s fishing for.
“What can I say?” I reply with an easy, practiced smile. “I love the sun.”
He nods, that ever-present grin plastered on his face as he drops onto the couch. The cushion dips under him, and his gaze shifts past me. I turn just enough to see that he’s looking at my suitcases, and a quiver of unease curls in my stomach.
“I just arrived. Was about to unpack,” I rush out. “Did something happen? Why are you here?”
Cane lingers on the sight of the luggage a moment longer, then pivots his focus back to me. “How’s the job treating you so far?” he asks lightly, though the falseness distorts every syllable. “Enjoying it?”
I nod, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe. “I am. I’m doing my best.”
His smirk deepens, reshaping the air in the room. “Do you remember what I told you the first day we met?”
“That I can’t fuck this up?” I offer.
He shakes his head slowly. “That too. But I also said some things about Estella.”
I narrow my eyes, studying him, trying to piece together what he’s really aiming at. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I remember.”
He said that if I let Estella get hurt, he will chop me into pieces and send them through a meat grinder.
A strange gleam sharpens in his eyes, and the smirk falls from his face, replaced by an expression I can’t immediately place. “How is your relationship with her?”
