The cellar smelled of damp stone and old wine, the air thick and still in a way that made Elira's skin prickle. The single bulb overhead flickered weakly, casting a cone of light that didn't reach the corners.
Kairo moved first, sweeping the space with the rifle before signaling her forward. The stairs groaned under their boots, every sound amplified in the hush.
At the far wall, half-hidden behind stacked crates, was the door he'd spoken of—a slab of reinforced oak with iron bands, its hinges ancient but solid. He knelt, running his fingers over the edge, feeling for the telltale signs of tampering.
"Clear," he said, but there was a faint tightness to his voice.
Elira crouched beside him. "Then why do you sound like you don't believe it?"
"Because they're too quiet." He glanced back toward the stair they'd descended. "Either they don't know about this exit… or they're already waiting outside."
Her pulse kicked harder. "So what's the plan?"
"We open the door. But not the way they expect."
From his jacket, he pulled a flashbang. The sight of it made her stomach twist—he wasn't bluffing about what came next.
He pressed the cool metal into her palm. "You throw it. I cover. The moment it pops, we move. Don't stop. Don't look back."
She tightened her grip. "And if someone's there—"
"Then I deal with them before they know where to aim."
The bulb above gave one last flicker before going out, plunging them into blackness broken only by the ghost-light from the stairwell. It was like the villa itself was warning them.
Kairo shifted, his hand brushing her shoulder—a brief, grounding touch. "Ready?"
She nodded, though her throat felt tight.
He unlatched the door in a single smooth motion. It swung outward into the rain-slick night. Cold air swept in, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine.
Elira lobbed the flashbang into the dark beyond. The detonation was instant—a white-hot burst followed by the sharp clap that made her ears ring.
Kairo surged through the opening, rifle up, his silhouette cutting through the drifting smoke. Two figures were there, exactly as he'd feared. They staggered, blinded, as his shots cracked once, twice—clean, controlled.
"Go!" he barked, and she was moving, splashing through mud, the storm lashing her face. The world became noise and motion—the wind tearing at her coat, the ground treacherous underfoot.
Behind her, more shouts. A shot ripped past her ear. She ducked low, adrenaline turning every sense razor-sharp.
Kairo was at her back, his presence a wall between her and whatever hunted them. "Down the slope!" he called over the storm. "Toward the treeline!"
They hit the cover of the pines, the rain softened by the thick canopy. The shadows closed around them, and the sound of pursuit began to fade—either they'd lost them, or their attackers were regrouping for another pass.
Elira leaned against a trunk, catching her breath. "Tell me this is the worst of it."
Kairo scanned the dark, his profile hard against the shifting light. "If it was, we'd be dead already."
Something in his tone sent a chill through her, colder than the rain.
"Then what now?" she asked.
He looked at her fully for the first time since they'd fled. "Now we disappear. And we don't stop until the people who want us gone can't find our shadows in daylight."
They moved deeper into the forest, the earth soft underfoot, rainwater seeping into their boots. The canopy overhead shifted with the wind, letting in fleeting slices of moonlight that silvered the wet needles and caught in Kairo's eyes when he glanced back at her.
He'd taken point again, his movements silent, deliberate—like the woods belonged to him. Even without looking, Elira knew he was counting steps, tracking their path in a way she couldn't see.
"How far?" she whispered, her breath misting in the cold.
"Another half kilometer," he murmured. "There's an old hunting cabin near the ridge. Off-grid. No one without a map would find it."
She clung to that thought, though each step seemed heavier than the last. Branches snagged her coat, the storm hissed through the pines, and every sound—every crack of wood or rustle in the underbrush—made her pulse stutter.
At one point, Kairo stopped so abruptly she nearly walked into him. His hand came up, palm back toward her—a silent command. She froze.
A shadow passed between the trees ahead. Too large for a fox. Too slow for a deer.
Kairo's voice was barely audible. "Two of them. Flanking."
Her stomach dropped. "They followed us."
"Or they never stopped."
He set his rifle against a tree, drew his sidearm instead—quieter for close work—and gestured for her to move left. She obeyed, circling wide, her boots sinking into the damp carpet of needles. The forest pressed in on all sides, the storm's low roar masking smaller sounds.
Then—crack. A branch behind her.
She spun, bringing her dagger up. A figure lunged from the dark, but before she could strike, Kairo was there—fast as breath, his arm locking around the attacker's throat. The man struggled, gasping, before going limp and dropping to the ground.
The second one didn't wait to be found. A shot rang out, splintering bark inches from Kairo's shoulder. He dragged her down, pushing her behind a fallen log. The smell of wet earth filled her nose.
"Stay here," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He was gone before she could protest—slipping through the shadows, silent, deadly. She strained to listen, every muscle wound tight. There was movement, a muffled scuffle, then nothing but the steady patter of rain.
When he returned, his eyes were sharper, colder. "Clear."
She didn't ask what he'd done. She didn't need to.
They moved again, faster now, the ridge drawing closer with every stride. The forest began to thin, the ground rising. Through the break in the trees, she spotted the faint outline of a cabin—small, weathered, the roof sagging slightly under years of snow.
By the time they reached it, her legs were trembling. Kairo pushed the door open with his shoulder, scanning the single-room interior. Dust lay thick on the table, the hearth cold, but the walls were solid and the shutters closed tight.
He shut the door, bolted it, and finally looked at her—really looked at her. "Sit. You're shaking."
She tried to brush it off. "It's just the cold."
His brow furrowed, but he didn't press. Instead, he lit a match, coaxing a small fire to life in the hearth. The glow slowly filled the room, casting shadows that danced on the rough-hewn walls.
Elira sank onto the bench near the table, feeling the first true warmth in hours. Kairo shed his coat, draping it over the back of her seat before crouching in front of the fire.
"You saved me back there," she said quietly.
His gaze lifted to hers. "No. I did what I had to."
"But you—"
"Elira." His tone softened, but there was steel beneath it. "As long as you're with me, I won't let anyone touch you. Not them. Not anyone."
The words settled between them, heavier than the rain on the roof. She wanted to answer, to tell him that she wasn't afraid when he was near, but the moment stretched, fragile, and she held it instead.
Outside, the storm raged on, but in the cabin's small circle of firelight, they had a pause—a heartbeat of safety before the world found them again.