Kara - Present
Thekeyslipsintothe lock and I open the door. The apartment coated in darkness, and my stomach sinks.
He didn’t make it out.
“Owen!” I call.
I step into the small hallway and flip a light on and I find his shoes sprawled haphazardly in the hallway, and my body sags in relief.
“Thank Christ,” I mutter.
I stand on the threshold, listening. The sound of the shower the only thing I can hear in the quietness of the apartment. I drop the gun onto the console table and pause, standing in front of the mirror.
It’s the first time I’ve seen my reflection since the attack, and Jesus, I’m a mess. My hair is barely in its updo. The tendrils of dark hair are knotty and fallen against my face. The sprinkler system makes them like rat tails which cling to my face, covered in dust, dirt, and dried blood. Tear tracks run down my cheeks, and my makeup is a smudged mess.
The make-shift bandage is grubby, the blood seeping through, and the dress. Well, the beautiful red dress is ruined, and I left the sodding shoes in the ballroom—which is quite annoying as they were nice!
I slowly make my way through the flat, a small one-bedroom safehouse that only I know the location of.
Sensing there was more to this assignment, I ensured we could go completely off grid if needed.
Well, as off grid as you can in central London.
This little flat is tucked down a side alley in Soho. I bought it years and years ago, where it remained empty and ready for an emergency, just like tonight.
It has furniture, but is sparse, with very little to show that anyone lives here. I pay someone to come in and keep an eye on things occasionally.
Andrews has no idea about this place.
No one does except for one, Luca Knight, who’s now a ghost. I helped him with that, after he needed to disappear after bringing down the Covenant.
I kick Owen’s shoes out the way and walk into the bedroom where the ensuite is located, the sound of the water growing louder.
I flip the light switch, the overhead lights illuminating the room in a soft glow. The double bed untouched and looks inviting. My body fights from the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm as my adrenaline drops.
I cross the room and touch the soft comforter, promising myself that I would be climbing in it soon, before I knock on the door.
“Owen…” I don’t wait for his response.
Instead, barging in and finding him crouched in the shower, fully clothed except for his shoes.
His back is against the dark tiled wall; his arms are hugging his legs to his chest. Water is pummelling his body, cascading over his face. The blood runs off his clothes, the remnants having pooled to the side where his large body blocks the drain.
A lasting reminder of what he just witnessed.
In this moment, he looks like a child. Lost, confused, and utterly broken. Pieces of himself have crumbled and washed away as the water soaks him, and I want to put him back together again.
I want to make his pain go away.
I don’t bother stripping. I walk into the huge double shower fully clothed and drop down to my knees, the water from the huge overhead shower spray hitting me.
“Are you hurt?” I ask softly.
He slowly looks up at me. His eyes are full of so much torment that my heart hurts for him. This isn’t his world; this is mine, and I need to remember that. Death isn’t something he has been close to, not in such a violent, unforgiving way.
“No.” His eyes lock on mine, and track over my body, taking me in. Raw and real. “Are you?” He reaches out, his fingers lightly touching my shoulder.
“This? I’m fine. Can you stand? I need to get you out and into dry clothes. You’re in shock.”
