He knows my hand’s on the gun. His eyes meet mine, and I can see it—he’s telling me,don’t.
For a heartbeat, our eyes meet. In that brief moment, I see it—the way his eyes flicker straight to Elijah. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at my son. Like he’s trying to make sense of something that’s not adding up in his head.
I pull Elijah closer, shielding him with my body. “Mommy…” Elijah’s voice is soft, unsure.
“Shh, baby,” I whisper, my voice steady even though my heart is beating so fast it feels like it might explode. I won’t let them near him. Not a chance.
My mouth feels dry and parched, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. It’s almost like the tension itself has a taste—bitter and metallic.
Leonid’s gaze is still locked on Elijah, and something flashes in his expression—something I don’t like.
My fingers tighten around Elijah’s tiny shoulder, ready to pull him even closer if I have to. But Leonid doesn’t move toward me.
“Get up, Clara Caldwell,” he orders, his voice low, like a fucking command I’m supposed to follow. “We’re leaving.”
Leaving? My stomach twists, but I don’t have time to process it.
I don’t let go of Elijah.Protect him.That’s all that matters.
“You’re not taking us anywhere.” My throat strains as I speak, my eyes are locked onto his, intense and unyielding. Even though everything in me is screaming.
I’m already on my feet, pulling Elijah behind me, shielding him from Leonid’s piercing gaze.
He takes a step forward, like he’s going to come closer, like he’s already decided he’s taking what he wants. “You think you have a choice?”
Elijah moves again, and before I can stop him, his little head pops up, groggy and confused. “Mommy? Who’s that?”
Shit.
Leonid’s eyes flick to Elijah, narrowing like he’s studying something. I hate it. I hate the way he looks at my kid like he’s more than just a little boy.
“Elijah, stay close,” I murmur, my hand never leaving him. “It’s okay.”
But it’s not. It’s so far from okay that I can’t even begin to think about it.
The silence stretches too long, and Leonid’s staring too hard at Elijah. His mouth opens, and for the first time, I hear something new in his voice.
“Elijah,” he whispers, almost to himself.
“Don’t call his name,” I snap.
Leonid doesn’t look up at me. He’s too busy staring at Elijah.
Fuck, they look alike. But he can’t know. He can’t ever know.
My heart pounds in my chest as the realization creeps in. He’s noticing it. I see it in the way his eyes narrow, the way he studies Elijah’s face.
I inch forward, my body still a barrier between them, hoping to block whatever it is Leonid thinks he’s seeing.
And then, Elijah, completely oblivious, decides to take the situation into his own hands. He points straight at Leonid, his voice gaining confidence. “You’re a bad guy, huh?”
I want to laugh, cry, scream—all at once. But Leonid? He just keeps watching Elijah, ignoring me entirely.
“Mommy,” Elijah continues, looking right at me with all the seriousness of a 4-year-old, “he looks likeMeowth.”
“Meo…wth?” Leonid’s brow furrows, clearly confused, and another shadow—whoever the fuck he is—snorts.
Another one steps forward. The light from the lantern hits his face for the first time, and I recognize him.
