“We’re leaving,” he informs me quietly.
I glance once toward Lila’s room.
“She’s stable,” he replies before I can ask. “Leo is staying. Security is in place.”
I nod once.
The drive to the apartment is quieter than the drive to the hospital. The city outside the window has gone nearly still, winter-dark and half asleep beneath streetlights and patches of snow pushed into dirty ridges along the sidewalks. I watch it pass without really seeing it.
By the time we reach the building, the adrenaline is gone. Only exhaustion remains.
The apartment is warm when we step inside, the air scented faintly with cedar, clean linen, and the residual trace of a place prepared before we ever got there. No hospital. No warehouse. No blood. Just warmth, quiet, and the soft click of the door closing behind us.
I stand just inside the entryway and release a breath I feel like I’ve been holding for hours.
A few feet away, Kiren watches me like he’s still convincing himself I’m really here.
12
KIREN
The quiet inside the apartment feels different from any quiet I’ve known tonight. At the warehouse, silence meant danger was gathering just beyond sight. Here, the quiet is ordinary. Warm air circulates through the vents. The faint scent of clean linen hangs in the space, untouched by gunpowder, cold metal, or blood.
Rowan exhales slowly beside me. The sound is quiet, but it feels like the final release of tension her body has been holding since the warehouse.
I turn my head and look at her. She stands just inside the entryway where she stopped when we came in, her shoulders slightly slumped beneath her coat. Damp strands of hair cling to her temples and the back of her neck. The bruises along her arms have darkened into deep shades, and the faint scrape along her cheekbone stands out more clearly now under the warm light.
She looks smaller than she did in the warehouse. Not fragile, just tired in the way that lingers deep in the bones after too much fear and too much adrenaline.
For a long moment, I simply look at her. Confirming what my eyes already know. She’s here, alive, and close enough that if I reach out my hand, I can touch her.
Rowan rubs her palm slowly across her face, dragging it down over her mouth and chin before letting it fall to her side again.
“I think my body is finally realizing it’s over,” she murmurs.
Her voice has that rough edge people get when exhaustion finally catches up with them.
My eyes move over her again, slower this time, studying the way she holds her shoulders and the way she moves her weight slightly from one foot to the other.
“You’re still standing,” I tell her.
“That feels like a small miracle right now.”
Her mouth lifts faintly at the corner, though the expression fades almost as soon as it appears.
I step closer. The floor barely makes a sound beneath my boots. When I reach her, I stop a step away and lift my hand. My fingers brush the sleeve of her coat before sliding upward until they rest lightly against her upper arm. The warmth of her skin beneath the fabric sends a quiet pulse of relief through my chest.
“Come on,” I murmur.
Rowan studies my face, her eyes searching mine as if she’s trying to read the next few minutes before they happen.
“Where?” she asks curiously.
“Bathroom.”
One eyebrow rises. “I’m capable of finding that on my own.”
“I’m aware.”
