The safehouse felt different when they returned — quieter, heavier, like the walls had absorbed the tension from the warehouse and were holding it hostage.
Kairo closed the door behind them, his movements unhurried, but his eyes… his eyes had that razor-sharp focus that told Elira he was replaying every second of what had happened. Every look Rahn had given her. Every calculated pause.
She dropped her coat onto the sofa, then paced toward the window. Outside, the fog still pressed against the glass, turning the city into a soft blur. "He knew my name," she said, almost to herself. "Not just my face. My name."
Kairo moved to the drinks cabinet, pouring something dark into a crystal glass. "Of course he knew. Men like Rahn don't make a move without knowing exactly what they're after."
She turned, meeting his gaze. "You mean the box?"
His jaw flexed. "I mean you."
The words hung in the air. Not a confession. Not even an accusation. Just truth, sharp and inescapable.
Elira swallowed, but her voice stayed steady. "Then you should have let me walk away weeks ago."
Kairo took a slow sip before answering. "If I had, you wouldn't have made it out of Portoscuro alive. And I wouldn't…" He stopped, his gaze locking with hers. "I wouldn't have been able to watch you walk away."
Silence. The kind that wasn't empty but full — full of everything they hadn't said since the day they met.
Elira crossed the room, each step deliberate, until she was standing close enough to see the faint shadows under his eyes. "You're used to control," she said. "But you can't control this. Not him. Not me. Not what's coming."
His hand came up, fingers brushing her cheekbone in a touch so light it made her ache. "I can control one thing," he murmured. "I can make sure no one touches you without going through me first."
Her pulse jumped. "And if they go through you?"
The faintest smile touched his lips. "Then they won't live long enough to regret it."
The moment stretched. His hand dropped, but he didn't step back. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, the pull that had been there since their first meeting but was sharper now, threaded with the kind of danger that made it hard to breathe.
Finally, she broke the gaze, moving past him toward the stairs. "I need to sleep," she said, though her voice was softer than she meant it to be.
Kairo didn't stop her. But as she reached the landing, his voice followed her, low and certain.
"Elira."
She turned.
"If Rahn comes near you again, I won't be giving him a warning."
There was no bravado in his tone. Just a promise.
Elira didn't sleep.
She lay in the guest room, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Kairo's eyes had locked on hers before she walked away. That same look had been there in the warehouse, even with guns aimed at them — steady, unflinching, as if he had already decided she was worth more than the risk.
It was infuriating. And terrifying. And, in a way she hated admitting, it made her feel safer than she had in years.
Downstairs, she heard the faint clink of glass against wood. She pictured him, jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbow, leaning against the table with that deceptively relaxed posture he used when his mind was already three steps ahead.
She turned on her side, but the silence in the room only pressed closer. Sleep wasn't coming.
Finally, she gave up.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Kairo didn't look surprised to see her. He had a map spread across the table, lit by a single desk lamp, red pencil marks cutting across the districts like a net.
"You're not sleeping either," she said quietly.
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
She hesitated, then crossed the room. Up close, she could see that some of the pencil marks were circles — key points. Others were Xs. And one, drawn with a heavier hand, was right in the center of the industrial docks.
"You're planning something."
"I'm planning everything," he corrected. "Rahn moved too fast tonight. That means he's impatient. Men like him get reckless when they think they're winning."
Elira traced one of the lines on the map with her eyes. "And you're going to use that."
Kairo leaned back, watching her. "You're quicker than most men I've worked with."
She gave him a wry smile. "I take that as a compliment."
"It was one."
For a moment, the room felt different — less like a war room, more like… something else. Something they weren't ready to name.
Her gaze dropped to the red circle at the docks. "What's here?"
"An old smuggling route. Abandoned, but not forgotten. Rahn won't resist it — too many blind corners, too many places to set a trap. He'll think it's his advantage."
She frowned. "And you'll make it yours."
He didn't answer. But his silence was confirmation enough.
Finally, she asked, "And me? Where do I fit in?"
Kairo's jaw worked for a second before he replied. "Close to me. Out of reach of anyone else."
"That's not a plan," she said softly.
His eyes lifted to hers, dark and unwavering. "It is when I'm the one making it."
The weight in his voice was too much, too close. She pushed back from the table, standing. "If you're wrong, we'll both go down with you."
Kairo didn't flinch. "If I'm wrong, Elira… then we go down together."
Her breath caught. She wanted to argue. She didn't. Instead, she turned toward the stairs again, but the air between them was so taut she could feel it even with her back to him.
Neither of them said goodnight.Elira didn't go straight upstairs.
Instead, she stopped at the foot of the staircase, her hand on the banister, eyes closed. She could still feel his gaze on her back — steady, unrelenting. Like if she turned around, she'd find him exactly as she left him, still leaning against the table, still watching her as if the entire city could burn down and he wouldn't look away.
She hated that part of her wanted to turn back.
A soft creak of floorboards made her glance over her shoulder. Kairo hadn't moved closer, but he wasn't bent over the map anymore. His arms were crossed now, posture loose but dangerous — the way he stood before a deal went bad.
"You should get some rest," he said.
The corner of her mouth tilted. "You should take your own advice."
"Can't."
She arched a brow. "Won't."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips — brief, but real. "Maybe."
For a beat, neither of them spoke. The clock in the hall ticked softly, marking seconds that felt too long.
Finally, she turned fully toward him, one hand still on the railing. "If you're wrong about Rahn, you're gambling more than your territory. You're gambling people's lives."
His smirk vanished. "I know exactly what I'm gambling." His eyes caught hers, the weight in them like a challenge. "And I know exactly who I'm protecting."
Something in her chest tightened, sharp and unwanted. She dropped her gaze first. "You can't keep doing that."
"What?"
"Putting me in that sentence."
"I don't put you anywhere," he said quietly. "You're already there."
The room seemed smaller suddenly, the air warmer despite the draft under the windows.
She let out a slow breath, then turned and took the stairs without another word. This time, she didn't stop until she reached her room. She shut the door and leaned against it, heart hammering far too fast for someone who had supposedly walked away.
Downstairs, Kairo stayed at the table long after the lamp burned low. He didn't look at the map again.