And she vanished right after.
Like we never existed at all.
I stare at the words until they blur together.
I walked away, but she's the one I never stopped returning to.
The place my soul stayed, even when my body didn't.
And now she's out there trapped somewhere with Calder, thinking I abandoned her for good this time. Thinking I never cared for her.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars, then flip to a new page.
I'm coming for you, Red. Even if I hate you for what you did. Even if you never forgive me for leaving.
ELEVEN
TRISTAN
We're at the hunting lodge in Switzerland.
Two days after a job went sideways.
Three hours after we finally stopped running.
The place is barely standing. Patchy power. Rattling pipes. Wallpaper peeling like old scabs. But the fireplace works, and there's a half-full bottle of whiskey someone left behind.
I'm sitting on the rug, back against the couch, legs stretched toward the flames. My shirt is off, a bandage still taped over the shoulder she stitched up a couple weeks earlier.
"How's your shoulder?" she asks, settling under a blanket nearby. "Want me to take a look?"
I arch a brow. "Any excuse to touch me again, huh?"
She rolls her eyes. "In your dreams."
I pluck the bottle from her hand, the corner of my mouth tugging up. "You missed your calling."
"As what?"
"Field medic or surgeon. Something that lets you wear a white coat and be a hero."
She laughs. "They'd never let people like me through the door."
"And why's that?"
"Because I prefer taking lives over saving them."
"Of course. How could I forget?" I roll the bottle in my hand, watching the whiskey climb the sides and fall back again.
"Tell me something about yourself," I say suddenly.
She blinks. "Like what?"
"I don't know. Anything."
"No personal questions," she reminds me.
"You made up that stupid rule."
