Page 20 of The Last Dance

“Some people are hard to kill,” I said. “I want to see how long he lasts.”

Yuri didn’t smile. He never did, unless something died. But he didn’t argue, either.

The ride was silent except for Iren’s breathing, which had settled into a slow, ragged pattern. I could feel his heartbeat, a slow drum against my chest. He smelled like sweat, soap, and whatever chemical they used to clean the floors. I catalogued the details. I didn’t want to forget them.

When the doors opened, the garage was empty except for the car and the half-light of the sodium lamps overhead. Iren stirred, just once, then burrowed deeper into my neck. He mumbled something, not English, maybe not even words.

I squeezed his shoulder until he stilled.

The car was already running. Black, armored, glass tinted enough to murder daylight. I opened the back door and slid in, keeping Iren draped across my lap, his legs curled in the foot well. He twitched once, then went limp again.

Yuri got behind the wheel. He adjusted the mirror, looked at me, then at the rearview. “Where to?”

“Home,” I said.

He nodded and guided the car up the ramp, past the security checkpoint, onto the arterial road. The city at night was a grid of lies, but the traffic was honest. It flowed or it didn’t.

Tonight, it did.

I let the silence stretch, cataloguing the way the world looked from behind ballistic glass. The neon signs washed the street in red and blue, punctuated by the steady amber of the streetlights.

The rain had stopped, but the asphalt still held a sheen, mirroring every passing headlight, every error in the city’s wiring.

Iren’s breathing grew even slower. His face, in sleep, lost the edge of defiance. He looked young—too young for the world he’d landed in. I pressed my hand to the side of his neck, feeling the pulse. Still strong. Still mine.

Three blocks from the turn, Yuri said: “We have a tail.”

My jaw tensed. I didn’t look back. “Description.”

“Four-door sedan. Rental plate. Lights off, but they’re not even trying to hide the mirrors.”

“Amateur,” I said.

“Or a decoy,” Yuri replied. “You want me to lose it?”

“Lose it,” I said. “Then double back and sweep for a second.”

Yuri nodded, then took the next left without signaling. The car’s suspension handled it like a pro. Iren did not wake, even as the G-force pressed his face harder into my chest.

The tail tried to follow, but Yuri bled velocity and took the next right at a crawl, using the delivery trucks as cover. The rental slid past, committed to the original vector. I watched it go in the side mirror, the dull shape of a man behind the wheel, hunched over the steering like a priest at confession.

“Whoever it is, they don’t have the stomach to get close,” Yuri said.

“They’ll get another chance,” I said.

He said nothing, which meant agreement.

I adjusted Iren in my lap, smoothing his hair back from his face. There was a cut at his temple, not deep, but new. I pressed my thumb to it, stopping the blood. He flinched, then settled.

We made three more turns, doubling back to the main route. I watched the rear window the entire time, but the tail did not return. Either they’d lost the nerve, or they were reporting to someone with more.

When we hit the straightaway for the mansion, I looked at the boy in my arms and thought about what it would cost to keep him. Not just tonight. Not just until the next man in a cheap suit decided he wanted something delicate to ruin. But always.

I’d taken many things in my life—lives, money, territory. But I had never wanted to keep anything.

Iren slept with his jaw slack, mouth open, one canine slightly chipped. His hand, still curled in my lapel, flexed when the car took a turn, like a man expecting to be thrown out but not willing to let go.

I set my palm against his chest. His heart was steady. Mine was not.