I exhale.
I drop my backpack by the door, kick off my boots, and head straight for the bathroom. The smell of soda and cleaning chemicals clings to my skin like a bad memory.
I strip, turn the shower as hot as it’ll go, and step under the spray.
The water burns. I let it.
My mind won’t shut off. It keeps replaying the day on loop—Maksim breaking into my apartment, making breakfast, the diner, Candy on her knees, Mrs. Hardinoff’s words echoing in my head.
That life is behind me.
How does someone just... leave without leaving?
I scrub at my skin until it’s raw, trying to wash away the feeling of being watched. Of being cornered. Of being seen in ways I never wanted.
Like my money. He saw it. Touched my wallet. Counted it, probably.
And he didn’t take it.
Thankfully.
I shut off the water, wrap myself in the towel that’s more holes than fabric, and stare at my reflection in the fogged mirror.
I look better today than I have in weeks, maybe because I ate for once.
I should eat now. Fridge is full of food. I squeeze the ends of my hair with the towel.
My phone buzzes from my discarded jeans. I fish out my phone.
Gabriel
I want my intel Ayla. Now.
I take in a breath. I have nothing for him. He needs to fucking wait.
I put my phone down; slip on shorts and a long shirt and pad to the kitchen and pull open the fridge.
It’s packed. Fresh eggs. Milk. Bread. Fruit. Things I haven’t seen in ages. But no leftovers.
I don’t cook if I can avoid it.
Sandwich it is.
I’m halfway through slapping mayo on bread when I feel it. That prickle at the back of my neck, like eyes on me in the dark. My head snaps toward the door.
Nothing.
Then my couch.
Maksim.
“When the f—”
“While you were in the shower.”
My grip tightens on the butter knife. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He stands and that’s when I notice them, shopping bags. Multiple. Designer logos I recognize but have never touched.
