Of course she ran. Of course she did.
Behind me, the manager hovers in the doorway, voice small now. “Sir…like I said, there was no one in?—”
“Get out,” I say.
He shuts up and vanishes.
I stay there a moment longer, breathing hard, eyes on the tiny rectangle of outside. The morning looks the same as it did an hour ago. Same gray sky, same moving cars, same nothing.
But she’s out there now. Somewhere. Carrying my…carrying Lily. No car seat. No protection. No idea who sent that sedan or whether they’re still in play.
Every protective instinct in me snarls.
Nikolai appears in the doorway, eyes taking in the empty stalls, the open window, my white-knuckled grip on the frame.
“She left,” he says. Not a question.
“She ran,” I correct, voice low.
He watches me for a second. “You going to let her?”
I stare out at the strip of alley, the world beyond it. My pulse is a drum in my ears, but under the anger, under the fear, there’s something else—a dark, reluctant respect. She didn’t just sit and wait for me to decide her fate. She made a move.
“Track the cameras,” I say. “Street, parking lot, inside. I want every angle. Pull plate data from anyone leaving in the last twenty minutes. Get someone talking to staff, see if she asked for a cab or directions. Cash receipts, anything.”
Nikolai nods once. “And if she doesn’t want to be found?”
A muscle in my jaw jumps. “She’s walking out there with a three-year-old and no cover in a city she doesn’t know. The people who just tried to kill us might still be looking. She doesn’t get to not be found.”
He holds my gaze. There’s no judgment in his eyes now. Just acknowledgment. He’s seen this in me before, in other contexts, with other targets.
“This isn’t business, Alek,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I answer.
And that’s the problem.
I take one last look at the open window, at the flimsy curtain still swaying like a taunt. Then I turn away.
She thinks she’s out. Safe, because she’s away from me.
She has no idea that the safest place for her—the only safe place left—is the very thing she’s running from.
I don’t blame her for wanting distance. I don’t blame her for choosing the gap in the wall when I’m the one sitting at the table.
But it doesn’t matter.
I’m not done with her. Or with Lily.
11
BELLA
I don’t think.
If I stop to think, I’ll sit back down at that table. I’ll wait for him to decide what happens to me. To us.
So I run.
