Her lips trembled, caught between protest and belief.
Silence lingered, filled with the faint drip of water from a leak in the ceiling. Then she looked at me differently — not with gratitude, not with fear, but with something sharper.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The question hung heavy.
"You fight like someone who's done this before. You think like someone who's done this before. You knew how to twist his wrist, how to turn the street to our advantage. That isn't just instinct." Her eyes narrowed, suspicious now "You're not just some stranger who stumbled across me, are you?"
held her gaze, steady but silent.
Her breath hitched, anger creeping into her voice. "Tell me the truth because if you're hiding something—if you're using me—"
I reached forward, taking her hands in mine, grounding her trembling with the warmth of my grip.
"I'm not using you," I said firmly. "I meant what I said — I won't leave you. I won't let him take you but yes… I've fought before. I've run before and I've lost people, just like you."
Her eyes searched mine, desperate for cracks, for lies. She found none.
Finally, she whispered, "Then why me?"
The answer came without hesitation "Because when I saw you, I knew I couldn't let go. Not then... Not ever."
Her breath trembled, her eyes softening despite the storm of doubt within her. Slowly, she leaned forward until our foreheads touched again, the gesture fragile, aching, real.
"I don't know if I can trust you," she whispered "But I think I want to."
"Then that's enough," I murmured "For now."
We stayed there, connected, while outside the city buzzed with Victor's unseen eyes, the hunt already tightening.
And though fear still shadowed her, for the first time, Aria allowed herself to lean into me fully — fragile, trembling, but choosing not to pull away.
The café was too quiet.
Every creak of the wood, every drip of water from the ceiling felt amplified, pressing down on us. Aria hadn't moved from her chair. Her hands trembled faintly on the tabletop, though her face stayed composed.
I kept watch at the boarded window, eyes scanning the gaps in the planks. The street outside bustled faintly with life now, but I couldn't shake the sense of being watched.
Victor wouldn't let this go unanswered.
"You should rest," I murmured.
Aria gave a small, humorless laugh "Rest? When he's out there?"
Her gaze was sharp, but her voice wavered. She pressed her palms against her temples. "It never stops. Even when he's not here, he's here. Do you understand what that's like? To feel someone's shadow even when they're miles away?"
"Yes," I said quietly, my jaw tightening.
She looked up, startled by the certainty in my voice but before she could ask, the sound cut through the silence — a faint scrape against the café's door.
Aria stiffened.
I raised a hand to steady her, moving silently toward the door. The scrape came again — followed by the soft thud of something sliding under the frame.
A folded piece of paper.
Every instinct screamed at me. I crouched, snatched it up, scanned the exterior. No markings, no seal. Just plain, damp paper.
Aria's voice trembled "It's from him."
I didn't deny it.... I unfolded it slowly.
The handwriting inside was sharp, deliberate, each stroke cutting into the page:
"Aria....
You know you can't hide. Every step you take, I am there. Every breath you steal, I am the air in your lungs. The boy can't save you. He will bleed, just like the others. Come back to me, and I will make it quick."
Aria's face drained of color as I read the words aloud.
Her whisper cracked "He knows....he always knows."
I crushed the paper in my fist "No, he wants you to believe that. He wants you afraid. That's how he wins."
She shook her head violently, her hair falling loose around her face "You don't understand. He means it. When Victor says something, he—"
I caught her hands across the table, steadying her tremor "Then we make him wrong."
Her eyes searched mine, wide, desperate "And if we can't?"
I squeezed her hands tighter "Then he learns what happens when shadows chase fire."
For the first time, I saw something flicker in her — not just fear, but anger. A spark of defiance.
And that spark, I knew, was exactly what Victor was afraid of.
The crumpled note sat between us on the table, its words heavy enough to poison the air.
Aria's eyes wouldn't leave it. Her lips moved soundlessly, as if replaying the lines in her mind, letting them coil tighter around her.
I reached out, sliding the paper away, shoving it deep into my pocket "Don't give him more space than he already has."
But her voice was hollow when she answered "You don't know how much space he's already taken."
I waited, giving her silence instead of comfort. Sometimes silence let the truth bleed out where words couldn't.
Her shoulders hunched, her fingers twisting together. Then, slowly, she whispered, "I tried to leave him once before."
The admission cracked like thunder in the stillness.
Her gaze drifted to the boarded windows, unfocused, far away "I thought I was smart. Careful. I planned for weeks, hiding money, memorizing routes, lying to everyone who might tell him. I thought… maybe I could vanish before he noticed."
Her laugh was sharp, bitter "But he noticed... He always notices."
Her hands trembled harder, and I covered them with mine, steady and patient.
"He let me run," she continued, her voice breaking. "For three days. I thought I was free and then—" Her breath hitched, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes "He found me. He didn't even have to hurt me. He just looked at me, and I knew I'd never really escaped. He took back everything I'd hidden. Burned it in front of me and then…"
Her words faltered.
I tightened my hold on her hands "And then what, Aria?"
Her eyes met mine, shining with shame. "He hurt someone else, someone who helped me, someone innocent. Just to prove that my choices would never only cost me. That if I ever ran again, I'd carry blood with me."
The silence after her confession was thick, suffocating.
I felt the weight of her fear more clearly than ever — it wasn't just her own life she carried. It was the lives of anyone who dared to stand beside her.
"That's why I can't—" Her voice cracked as she tried to pull her hands free, but I didn't let her. "That's why I shouldn't let you stay. If you stay, he'll come for you too and he'll win. He always wins."
I leaned closer, holding her gaze with unflinching steadiness "Not this time."
Her lips trembled, as if she wanted to believe but couldn't "You can't promise that."
can promise I won't leave," I said, voice low, certain. "And if he thinks fear is enough to break you again, then he's already lost. Because you're not the same girl who ran last time. You fought today, Aria. You stood your ground. That strength—he can't take it unless you give it to him."
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now, but she didn't look away. She didn't break.
Instead, for the first time, she whispered, "Then show me how not to give it to him."
And in that moment, I knew — her fear was still there, deep and heavy, but so was something new... A choice.
The rain had softened outside, but the storm inside the safehouse lingered, heavy and suffocating. Aria's confession still hung in the air like smoke — a story of chains, burned bridges, and fear sharp enough to cut.
But there was also her last whispered plea: "Then show me how not to give it to him."
I sat back slowly, studying her across the dim table. She was trembling, yes, but there was a flicker behind her eyes — not just fear anymore, but something like hunger. A need to fight.
"Alright," I said finally, my voice steady "Then we start tonight."
Her brows knit together "Tonight?"
Yes," I said. "Victor has already stolen enough time. Every moment we sit waiting is another moment he wins. So, if you're ready… I'll teach you."
Her lips parted, the tremble of doubt still there but she didn't say no.
We cleared the table, pushing aside the scraps of food and the weight of her confession. I stood, motioning for her to join me in the center of the room.
"This isn't about strength," I explained as she hesitated "It's about control, about knowing where your power is — and refusing to let anyone take it."
Her hands curled into fists "I don't know if I can—"
"You already did today," I interrupted. "You didn't run when he cornered you... You stood. That's step one. Now, step two—trust your instincts."
She swallowed, nodding once.
I showed her how to shift her stance, how to keep her weight balanced. Simple things. Nothing flashy. Just grounding her body so her mind could follow.