Elijah had lost track of time.
The room was cold now, a damp chill creeping into his bones. The photograph lay on the table in front of him like an open wound—its smudged ink and faded colors pressing questions into his mind he didn't want to ask.
Every sound outside the door made his muscles tense. Footsteps. Voices. The metallic creak of hinges far down the hall. Somewhere, water dripped in a slow, maddening rhythm.
He told himself he wouldn't cry.
And yet, the moment he heard the gunfire, his heart slammed against his ribs—not from fear, but from a dangerous, foolish hope.
---
The door burst open.
Two men crumpled to the floor, their weapons clattering away.
And there he was.
Luca.
His eyes—those cold, steel-gray eyes—were burning hotter than Elijah had ever seen. His shirt was torn at the sleeve, dark with someone else's blood. A gun was still raised in his right hand, his knuckles white around it.
"Elijah," he said, voice tight, ragged.
The sound of it broke something inside Elijah, and yet… that photograph, that whisper from the man earlier, curled in his mind like smoke.
---
Luca crossed the room in three long strides, holstering the gun as he reached for Elijah's bindings. "They didn't hurt you?"
Elijah shook his head automatically, but his eyes were fixed on Luca's face—searching, probing for any sign of guilt or truth.
The ropes fell away. Luca gripped his arm, hauling him to his feet. "We're leaving. Now."
But Elijah's legs felt heavier than the concrete floor beneath them. "Luca…" His voice cracked. "Why were they saying—"
"Not now," Luca snapped, his hand tightening on Elijah's wrist. "I'll explain when we're safe."
---
They moved quickly through dim hallways, Luca taking out any guard that appeared without hesitation. Elijah kept pace, his mind a whirlwind of clashing truths:
The man from earlier.
The photograph.
The way Luca had just risked his life to be here.
At one point, Luca pushed him against a wall to shield him from a burst of bullets. Elijah felt the weight of Luca's body pressing him there, his breath harsh against his ear.
"Stay behind me," Luca growled.
For a second, Elijah hated how safe that command made him feel.
---
They made it to the exit—a rusted metal door hanging half off its hinges. Night air rushed in, damp with the smell of rain. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.
A black car idled nearby, the driver slamming his palm against the horn. "Move!"
Luca shoved Elijah into the back seat, sliding in after him. The car lurched forward, tires screeching against wet pavement.
---
For a few minutes, there was only the roar of the engine and Luca's steady breathing beside him.
Then Elijah spoke. Quiet. Careful. Dangerous.
"They said you worked for him."
Luca didn't look at him. "I did."
"They said you traded someone for your freedom."
A muscle in Luca's jaw tightened. "That's not the whole story."
Elijah's chest constricted. "Then tell me the whole story."
Luca's hand curled into a fist on his knee. His voice was low, almost a growl.
"Not tonight. You're shaking. You need rest."
---
"I need the truth," Elijah shot back, surprising even himself with the force of it. "If you care about me at all—"
Luca finally turned, his eyes flashing with something raw and unguarded. "You think I don't care? I killed for you tonight. I burned a bridge I can never cross back over. And you're asking me to rip open the one thing I've spent years trying to bury."
Elijah's breath caught.
In that moment, the sirens outside faded, the road beneath them vanished, and all that was left was the heat of Luca's anger tangled with the ache in his voice.
---
"I'll tell you," Luca said, his tone softening just enough to sound dangerous in a different way. "But when I do, you'll have to decide—once and for all—if I'm the man you can love… or the man you should hate."
Elijah's heart pounded painfully. Because deep down, he feared the answer might be both.
---