Evi stirs, eyes fluttering open, and I put a finger to my lips. The footsteps stop just above us, pause, then retreat. False alarm. For now.
Evi exhales shakily. “I thought?—”
“I know,” I whisper. “Me too.”
She clings to my shirt, her fingers trembling. “Sandro, I don’t want to die down here.”
“You won’t,” I say, even though I can’t promise it. “I’ll find a way to get you out.”
Her eyes glisten in the dim light. “To getusout,” she insists.
And because I can’t bear to lie to her, I simply nod.
She presses her forehead to my chest. I can feel her silent tears soaking my shirt, and as I hold her, it hits me—while I’m not afraid of dying, I’m terrified of losing her.
I owe Evi more than words. I owe her everything I’ve never said, everything I’ve been too stubborn to admit. And if I ever get us out of here, I intend to spend the rest of my life proving it to her.
For now, all I can do is hold her closer and whisper against her hair, “I’ve got you. No matter what happens.”
She nods as she cries quietly against me.
And in that moment—beneath the stone, the darkness, the silence—I make a vow.
Kenji Tanaka will never touch her again. Not while I’m still breathing.
34
EVI
Sandro’s words echo in the dark, lending me strength long after he says them.I’ve got you.
They settle somewhere deep inside me, in the part that’s been holding its breath since the moment I woke to find a stranger crouched in my room. I rest my ear against his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heart. The sound keeps me tethered, keeps the panic from pulling me under again.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
His arm tightens around me. “Don’t say that.”
“I mean it. You shouldn’t have to protect me. I’m just?—”
He cuts me off softly. “You’re the reason I’m still fighting.”
I close my eyes, swallowing hard. His voice is rough, a low rasp from exhaustion and pain, but underneath it is conviction. That’s what breaks me most. He means it.
When I finally lift my head, I can just barely make out his face in the low light—a blur of bruises, shadow, and stubborn will.His eyes look darker here, more dangerous and somehow more human all at once.
“You really think we’ll get out of this?” I ask.
“I have to,” he says simply. “If I don’t believe it, neither of us will.”
It’s not much of an answer, but it’s the only one he can give.
I trace the torn edge of his sleeve, noticing the bruises creeping up his arm, the dried blood from where his skin beneath the cuffs has been lacerated. I wish I could clean and bandage them. “You shouldn’t have come after him. Kenji.”
He gives a small laugh that’s more air than sound. “You sound like Raf.”
“Maybe he was right.”
“He always is,” he admits. Then his hand finds mine, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “But if I hadn’t come, they would’ve killed someone else. Maybe Raf. Maybe Miko. It had to be me down here. No one relies on me.”
