“For what?”
“For this. For… caring whether I make it out alive.”
Something twists in my chest. Before I can stop myself, my hand comes up, cupping her cheek. Her skin is soft, warm under my palm.
“Remember this,” I murmur, thumb rough on her cheekbone. “Fear isn’t a stop sign. It’s a sightline. You aim down it and you shoot. Save mercy for after you’re safe.”
She swallows, leans into my hand for a heartbeat, then pulls back and wipes sweat from her temple with the back of her wrist.
“Erm…” She tries for a small smile, eyes flicking up to mine. “Anton?”
“Yeah?”
“I… I need to go to the pharmacy later. For… personal things.”
My eyes narrow.
“What kind of personal things?”
Color floods her cheeks.
“Girl things. Nothing dramatic.”
“I’ll take you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll take you,” I repeat, firmer this time. I step in closer until she has to tilt her chin to hold my gaze. “You don’t go anywhere alone. Period.”
The words hang there, not a suggestion. A rule.
Her breath catches. “Anton—”
“Non-negotiable.”
She exhales, defeated but not angry. “Fine,” she says quietly. Then, softer: “Thank you.”
“Good,” I grunt in response, because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?
We stare at each other. Her pulse is visible at her throat, quick and fluttering. I want to press my thumb against it, feel how fast her heart’s beating.
I don’t.
Instead, I step back, putting distance between us before I do something stupid.
Then Boris’s voice echoes from the gym.
“Food’s here! And I’m eating it all if you don’t move your asses!”
Mary blinks, the spell broken. But there’s still color in her cheeks when she looks at me.
“Food sounds good,” she says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “It does.” I take the Glock from the bench, lock the slide back, then slide it into the side compartment of my gun bag. The zipper hums closed—clean, final. I sling the strap over my shoulder and reach for the door.
She slips past when I hold it open, eyes darting up to mine like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to smile.
I don’t give her anything back.
