The weather had turned. Not enough to call it a storm, not yet. But the clouds pressed low and sullen against the skyline, and the wind slithered down alleys in sudden shivers. I felt it through the seams of my coat as I walked home from the store, bag of instant noodles in one hand, bruises blooming quietly beneath my jeans. Every step made me wince, not from pain but memory.
James had been gone for three days.
No word. No message. Not even a thread left on my pillow. I told myself I didn't need it. That I wasn't waiting. That I was still whole without him. But every hour that passed made me smaller. More folded in. More hollowed.
And I hated that.
I hated how the silence in my apartment screamed now. Hated how my fingers brushed the empty space at my throat without thinking. Hated how I kept waking up tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, aching and restless, haunted by phantom touches and whispered commands.
I stopped at the corner before my building. Let traffic pass. The crosswalk light flickered and stuck, a glitch trapped on red. I stood in the wind, bag warm in my hand from a small box of microwaved leftovers I didn't even remember buying. My stomach growled like it belonged to someone else.
That's when I saw him.
A man. Just standing across the street.
Not moving. Not checking his phone. Not pretending to wait for a bus that never came. He stood too still, like a mannequin placed for some unknown test. His eyes were hidden behind black lenses, absurd in the cloudy dusk, and his coat was pressed sharp, military clean.
He didn't cross when I did. But his head turned.
Only slightly. Only once.
Still, I walked faster.
My building loomed now, glass door scuffed from years of use, the flickering stairwell bulb blinking weakly like a heartbeat. Home. Safety. Normalcy.
But I never made it inside.
Footsteps.
Not fast. Just close.
Too close.
I turned.
The man had crossed after all.
He was halfway across the street. Still not rushing. Still too calm.
But the world around me narrowed to the thud of my heart.
I dropped the grocery bag. Noodles spilled across the sidewalk like guts. I didn't care.
I backed away.
"Kristina."
He said my name like a password.
"Don't," I managed, voice thin.
He smiled. Not a smirk. A practiced line of teeth that didn't touch his eyes.
His hand moved inside his coat.
I froze.
Then something moved faster than fear.
A shadow peeled from the alley beside me,
And James hit him.
Not a warning. Not a threat. An attack. Precise and brutal. James's fist struck like a piston to the man's ribs, knocking him sideways into a parked car with a dull crunch. The man stumbled, hands clawing at his coat,
But James was already there.
He slammed the stranger into the wall. Grabbed the wrist going for the weapon and twisted until something snapped. The man howled.
James kneed him in the stomach. Caught the blade as it fell.
A short, curved thing. No markings. Black metal.
Then James held it against the man's throat.
I couldn't move. I couldn't blink.
James leaned in and whispered something. I didn't catch it. I wasn't meant to.
Whatever it was made the man go limp.
James pulled back slowly. Let the man drop. The stranger slumped to the sidewalk like trash left in the rain.
James turned to me.
His eyes burned darker than the clouds.
"You're coming with me."
I didn't move.
He stepped closer. Picked up my bag. Nudged it closed with the same hands that had just dismantled a man like a machine.
Then he offered it to me.
His knuckles were raw. One was bleeding.
I took the bag.
He took my wrist.
And we vanished into the alley.
Leaving the man sprawled behind us like punctuation on a sentence I didn't yet understand.
James didn't speak as he pulled me through the maze of backstreets, his grip firm but not cruel. His pace was fast enough to keep me breathless, but not enough to trip me. He knew my stride. Knew how far to push.
The alleys twisted behind us, buildings stacked like broken teeth, graffiti smeared across brick and rusted fire escapes. The city sounded different back here. Like a place between lungs. Quiet, except for the soft slap of our footsteps and the sharp exhale of my breath.
We stopped behind a warehouse. Steel door, keypad lock, no markings.
James entered a code I didn't see. The door buzzed.
He ushered me inside.
The space swallowed me.
Dim lights hummed overhead. It wasn't empty, more like organized chaos. Weapons laid out on tables. Screens showing maps. Boxes marked with numbers and languages I couldn't read. A different life. A hidden one.
James locked the door behind us.
Then he turned to me.
"Take off your coat."
I hesitated. My hands trembled.
He stepped forward and helped me. Slow. Gentle. The fabric slid off my shoulders, down my arms. He hung it on a hook beside the door.
Then he reached up, fingers brushing the thread at my neck.
"You wore it."
I nodded.
His eyes flicked down my body, still trembling. "You're scared."
"Should I be?"
He stepped closer. "Not of me. Never of me."
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't cruel. It was claiming.
When it ended, I gasped like surfacing.
James stepped back and gestured to a leather couch in the corner.
"Sit. Breathe. I need to clean up."
I sat.
My fingers fumbled with the hem of my shirt, unsure of everything except how hard my heart was beating.
James disappeared behind a curtain.
Water ran.
I stared at the screens. They showed names. Faces. Symbols. Red Xs over some of them. My stomach turned.
When James returned, he wore a fresh shirt, his knuckles bandaged.
He walked past me, sat in the chair opposite, and laced his fingers together.
"We need to talk."
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
James didn't press.
He just sat there, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, like he was studying the way I breathed.
"I know what you're thinking," he said.
"Do you?"
He gave the barest nod. "You're wondering if that man was the first. Or if he'll be the last."
I looked down at my hands.
He waited.
I finally whispered, "Was he going to kill me?"
James leaned forward. "No. He was going to use you to get to me."
"That's not better."
"I didn't say it was."
The silence after that was thick. Tangible. I could feel it on my skin.
"I need you to understand something," James continued. "This world I'm in, it doesn't forgive weakness. And being with me, even just being close, paints a target on your back."
"Then why let me get close?"
His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes.
"Because you already were."
He stood, walked to a shelf, and returned with a folded cloth. Inside was a necklace, chain-thin, silver, with a charm shaped like a small shield.
He placed it on the table in front of me.
"This will help. Not just as protection, but recognition. People in my world see this, they think twice."
"What if I don't want to be seen?"
He smiled faintly. "Too late."
I reached for the necklace. My fingers brushed his.
"James... Who are you really?"
His smile faded.
"I'll tell you. But not all at once. Tonight, I just need you to listen."
I nodded.
And he began to speak.
He started with a name. Not his, but someone else's.
"Elias Vern," James said, voice low. "The man you just saw was one of his. He doesn't send people unless he means to finish something."
I repeated the name in my head. Tried to make it make sense. "What does he want from you?"
James looked away. "What he always wanted. Control."
He stood and moved to the wall. Pulled down a cloth covering a corkboard. Pictures, documents, maps. Strings connecting dots I didn't understand.
"This is what I walked away from," he said. "People like Elias run things behind the scenes. The real scenes. He trades in secrets, fear, and favors bought with blood."
"And you worked for him?"
"I was his sharpest knife. Until I stopped being his."
A chill slithered down my spine.
James turned. His face was calm, but there was steel in his voice now. "He doesn't let things go. Especially not tools that learned to think for themselves."
He walked back and sat beside me. "That's why I left. That's why I keep moving. And that's why I didn't want you involved."
"But I am."
"You are."
My chest tightened. "So what happens now?"
James took my hand. "Now I make sure you survive it."
He stood. Pulled me to my feet.
"No more hiding. No more lies. If you stay, you do it with eyes open. If you walk, I won't stop you."
I stared up at him. "And if I stay?"
He brushed his thumb over the thread at my throat.
"Then I protect what's mine."
He kissed me, fierce, raw, unflinching.
And I knew.
The leash hadn't snapped.
It had fused.