Raven didn't negotiate. He didn't feel fear the way Dante did. He calculated angles.
In the time it took the guard to shift his weight, Raven moved. He didn't aim for the man; he aimed for the distraction. He threw the heavy duffel bag of ammunition he was holding. It flew through the air like a cannonball, slamming into the assassin's face with bone-crushing force.
The man stumbled back, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.
Dante didn't hesitate. He lunged. He grabbed Alice by the waist and yanked her violently away, spinning her behind him. Simultaneously, he brought the butt of his pistol down on the attacker's wrist, shattering it with a sickening crunch.
The knife fell into the mud.
Raven finished it. He stepped over the fallen man and delivered a single, precise kick to the temple. The guard went limp.
Silence returned to the alley, broken only by Alice's ragged, gasping breaths.
Dante turned to her, grabbing her shoulders. "Are you hurt? Did he cut you deep? Let me see."
He tilted her chin up, inspecting the cut on her neck. It was shallow, but the sight of her blood on his hands made him feel sick.
"I... I'm okay," Alice whispered, her teeth chattering. "Dante, I..."
"You are not okay!" Dante shouted, the fear exploding out of him as anger. "You followed us? Are you insane? Do you have a death wish, Alice? These are killers! This isn't a game!"
"They were going to kill you!" she shouted back, tears spilling over her lashes. "I couldn't just watch! I saved you!"
Raven walked over, checking the pulse of the unconscious men. "They are Reagan's guard. Scouts. There will be more." He looked at Dante, then at Alice. His expression was grim. "We cannot leave her here. They have seen her face. They know she helped the fugitives. If we leave her, they will torture her to find us."
Dante looked at Alice. He looked at the simple life she represented—the flowers, the knitted cardigans, the quiet evenings he had watched from afar. And he realized, with a sinking heart, that he had just destroyed it.
"She comes with us," Dante whispered, his voice hoarse.
"No," Alice shook her head, backing away. "I can't... I don't want to be a burden. I have work tomorrow..."
"There is no tomorrow for you here," Raven said coldly, picking up the bags. "Not anymore. Move."
They began to walk, faster this time. Dante kept Alice between him and Raven, his hand hovering near the small of her back, guiding her, protecting her.
Because Dante's car was still in the shop and the new vehicle wasn't ready, they were forced to walk the remaining blocks to the apartment. The rain had turned into a drizzle, slicking the streets with a black sheen.
As they passed a row of overflowing industrial dumpsters near a closed flower shop, Alice slowed down.
Something caught her eye amidst the filth.
Sticking out of the grime and the black plastic bags was a bouquet of flowers. They were white lilies, wrapped in distinctive blue paper. They were wilting, their petals turning brown at the edges, discarded among the rot of the city.
Alice stopped dead. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The noise of the city faded into a dull roar.
A memory, sharp as the knife that had just touched her throat, sliced through her mind.
Six months ago. Before the chaos. It was Dante's birthday, or at least, the day she suspected was his birthday. She had bought him flowers. Stupid, she had told herself. Men like Dante don't want flowers. But she had bought them anyway, white lilies, because they meant devotion and pure intentions.
She had knocked on his door, her heart hammering. He had opened it, smelling of whiskey and oil, looking tired. She had held them out, smiling, offering her heart wrapped in blue paper.
He had taken them. He had looked at them with a strange, unreadable expression, something between longing and pain. He had said thank you softly. He had even smiled.
But later that night... later that night, when she had gone to take out her own trash, she had seen them.
The white lilies. In the dumpster. Unopened. Still in the blue paper. Thrown away like garbage.
Alice stared at the rotting bouquet in the alley now, the memory overlaying the reality. A sharp, physical pain shot through her chest, tightening her throat until she couldn't breathe. It was a grief so profound it felt like mourning a death.
She realized it then. He hadn't thrown them away because he hated flowers. He had thrown them away because he was pushing her away. He treated her love like it was something dangerous, something that needed to be discarded before it could take root.
He threw them away, Alice thought, the realization settling in her bones like ice. Just like he will throw me away when this is over.
A tear slid down her cheek, hot and stinging, mixing with the rain.
The ache in her throat wasn't from the knife wound. It was a knot of unshed tears and unspoken words. She felt a deep, stinging ache in her heart that radiated out to her fingertips.
In that dirty alley, staring at dead flowers, Alice made a decision.
She would help them. She would follow him into the fire. But she would never, ever let him see her heart again. She would lock her love in a cage deep inside herself. If he wanted to push her away, she would save him the trouble. She would be a stone.
"Alice?" Dante called out, turning back when he realized she had stopped. His voice was laced with worry. "You coming?"
Alice looked up at him. She wiped the tear away quickly, her face hardening into a mask of indifference.
"I'm coming," she said softly.
She walked past the flowers without looking back, leaving her hope in the trash where he had put it.
Meanwhile, back in the apartment, the air was still and suffocating.
Gazelle had drifted off to sleep on the couch shortly after the men had left. The exhaustion of the escape, the emotional toll of seeing Alexander, and the sheer physical drain of her heart condition had pulled her into a deep, dark slumber.
But it was not a peaceful sleep.
The nightmare came upon her like a tidal wave of black ink.
She was standing in the center of a blank page, but the paper was bleeding. Words were screaming at her sentences she had written, dialogues she had crafted, twisting around her ankles like snakes.
Why did you write us to suffer? The voices screamed. Why did you give us pain instead of joy?
Then, the physical pain hit.
It wasn't a dream pain. It was real. It felt like a hand made of ice had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. It was the defect. The flaw she had written into herself. The ink in her veins was clotting, suffocating her.
"No..." she whimpered in her sleep. "Please..."
Alexander Morgan was sitting in the armchair, watching the rain streak the window, when he heard the sound.
It was a gasp. A wet, ragged intake of breath that sounded like someone drowning on dry land.
He spun around.
Gazelle was thrashing on the couch. Her hands were clawing at her chest, gripping the fabric of her dress as if trying to rip her own heart out. Her face was contorted in a mask of pure agony. Sweat beaded on her forehead, plastering her hair to her skin.
"Gazelle?" Alexander stood up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
She didn't answer. She let out a high, keen sound of distress, her body arching off the cushions.
Panic, cold and absolute, washed over Alexander. He had seen people hurt. He had seen the Twins break bones in the training ring. But he had never seen this. He had never seen the person who looked so small, so destroyed.
"Gazelle, wake up!"
He rushed to her side, dropping to his knees on the hard floor.
Her eyes flew open.
They were wide, unseeing, dilated with terror. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking through him, at the monsters in her mind. She clutched her heart, her knuckles white.
"It hurts," she choked out, her voice a broken whisper. "It hurts, it hurts..."
Alexander froze. He didn't know what to do. He looked around the room frantically, as if the answer would be written on the peeling wallpaper. Water. She needs water. That's what you do for sick people, right?
He scrambled to the coffee table, grabbing the glass of water Dante had left earlier. His hands, usually so steady, were shaking so hard the water sloshed over the rim.
"Here," Alexander stammered, holding the glass to her lips. "Drink. Please, just drink. It will help."
Gazelle tried to take the glass, but her hands were trembling violently. As her fingers brushed the cold glass, a sob ripped through her chest, shattering the moment.
A single, large tear, heavy and full of light, spilled from her eye, rolling down her cheek.
And then, she broke.