Chris nods. Doesn’t speak.
Nina slides her hand into mine. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly—she’s been holding it together for hours, being the steady one for Arturo, for Celeste, for everyone who needed her. Now the cracks are starting to show.
“We should go home,” she says. “There’s nothing more we can do here tonight.”
I bring her hand to my mouth, press a kiss to her knuckles. She leans into me, just for a second—lets me take some of the weight. Then she straightens, squares her shoulders. Ready to keep going.
She’s right. Lucia will handle the remaining coordination. Celeste and her partners will stay with Vicente’s family. Rafael’s intel is already being processed by people with more resources than us.
It’s almost eight in the evening. We’ve been running on adrenaline since before dawn, and it’s all crashing now.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go home.”
Nina’s house is quiet when we arrive. The lights are off, the familiar stillness of a home that’s been empty all day. Everything looks exactly the way it did yesterday morning, before the safe house, before the storm, before any of this.
Nina checks her phone as we walk in. “Darius texted. He’s home from the hospital—minor concussion, but he’s fine.” She tilts the screen toward me. It’s a photo of Nikita curled up on what looks like a well-worn armchair, eyes half-closed in feline contentment.
DARIUS: She’s not going anywhere tonight. You three get some rest.
“Smart cat,” I say. “Knows where the good chair is.”
Nina smiles, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. One less thing to worry about.
We barely make it through the door.
The exhaustion hits all at once. Nina kicks off her shoes and heads straight for the bathroom, peeling off her jacket as she goes. She moves like someone whose body has finally won the argument.
“Shower,” she says over her shoulder. “I can’t get into bed smelling like hospital.”
Chris follows without a word. I lock the door behind us, check the windows out of habit, then follow the sound of running water.
The bathroom is already filling with steam when I get there. Nina’s borrowed clothes are in a pile on the floor, and she’s stepping into the shower, Chris right behind her. He’s stripped down too, and the sight of them together under the water, exhausted, vulnerable, still reaching for each other, does something to my chest.
I shed my own clothes and join them.
Nina’s back is against my chest, Chris’s hands working shampoo through her hair. She tips her head back, eyes closed, and for a moment she looks almost peaceful.
Her hand finds my thigh, slides higher. “We could?—”
“You’re half asleep,” I murmur against her temple.
“I’m aware.” But she doesn’t push it. Her hand stills, then drops. “Tomorrow. When I can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.”
“Deal.”
Chris rinses the last of the soap from her hair, then reaches for me. We take turns washing each other. Nothing urgent, nothing heated. Just hands and water and the simple intimacy of caring for each other after a day that tried to break us.
By the time we’re done, Nina can barely keep her eyes open.
We dry off quickly, stumble into the bedroom. Nina climbs in first, Chris behind her, and I take my place on the other side. Clean sheets, clean skin, the three of us tangled together in the dark.
Nina’s breathing evens out within seconds. Chris lasts a little longer, his hand finding my hip, anchoring us together. Then he’s gone too.
I lie there listening to them breathe, feeling the warmth of their bodies against mine. We made it. Against everything—the assassins, the storm, the weight of secrets that nearly broke us—we made it through.
I close my eyes.
Sleep comes fast.
