( Bloom's POV)
The days had begun to blur together.
I counted them by the way the bullets echoed in my ears each night, the acrid sting of gunpowder lodged in my clothes, the stiffness in my shoulders from holding the pistol too long. Adrian drilled patience into me, taught me to breathe, to steady, to never flinch. But outside of that, silence filled the hours, thick and choking.
Until this morning.
He came into the room with no case, no weapon, no instructions. Instead, he tossed something soft at me — a heavy, oversized coat, the kind that swallowed me whole.
"Get up," he said.
I blinked at him from the thin mattress. "Why?"
"Because you've been locked in here too long. You need air."
I frowned at the coat. My instinct screamed to refuse. The outside world was full of dangers, eyes that could see too much. But Adrian was already at the door, not waiting for my excuses.
"Come on, Lia," he said over his shoulder. "I don't bite."
Lia.
The name tasted bitter in my mouth, yet it was the only shield I had. So I stood, shoved my arms into the coat, and followed.
The city swallowed me whole the moment we stepped outside.
It was alive in ways I had almost forgotten. Vendors leaned over stalls piled high with fruit, shouting over one another to draw attention. The smell of roasting meat mingled with diesel smoke and dust. Children darted between legs, their laughter ringing like little bells. Everything was moving, loud, pulsing.
I froze for a heartbeat at the edge of the crowd. My body remembered before my mind did — the panic of being surrounded, the instinct to run, the choking dread that someone would grab me, drag me back into nightmares I hadn't escaped.
Adrian noticed. He slowed his stride, turning just enough to glance at me. His voice came low, close to my ear. "Relax. No one's looking at you."
Easy for him to say. He didn't have a past buried under ashes and blood.
Still, I forced my legs to move. My steps were shaky, but I kept pace beside him. People greeted him along the way — some with curt nods, others with respect in their eyes. He carried himself like someone who belonged here, rooted in the chaos.
"Do you know everyone in this place?" I asked, my voice small, careful.
"Not everyone," he replied. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Just enough to get free fruit if I smile the right way."
The image of him smiling for fruit was absurd enough to make me laugh. Really laugh. The sound startled me. I hadn't realized how long it had been since something tore its way out of my chest without pain. Adrian glanced at me, his brow arching slightly, but he didn't comment.
We lingered at stalls longer than I expected. Adrian bartered with easy confidence, trading coins for bags of vegetables and bread. I trailed behind him, trying to look like I belonged. More than once, I caught myself staring at families — mothers with children tugging their hands, fathers carrying heavy bags while kids clung to their coats. Something sharp twisted inside me.
That used to be my world.
And now it was gone.
I clenched the coat tighter around me and kept walking.
Instead of going home, Adrian led me through a narrow alley that smelled of rust and rain. At the end of it stood a staircase so corroded it looked ready to collapse.
I hesitated. "You're sure this is safe?"
"Safe enough," he said. And without waiting, he started climbing.
I followed, one careful step after another, until we emerged onto a rooftop that stole my breath away.
The city stretched wide before us, the sun hanging low on the horizon, painting everything in molten orange. Smoke rose from chimneys, neon lights flickered awake below, and the hum of traffic carried like a restless heartbeat. For the first time in weeks, the world didn't look cruel. It looked alive.
I sank down near the edge, hugging my knees. Adrian dropped beside me, leaning back on his hands like he'd done this a hundred times.
"You come here often?" I asked quietly.
"Sometimes," he said. "When it gets too loud down there."
I nodded, staring at the sprawl of the city. "I get that."
Silence settled between us, but it wasn't heavy. It felt… still. Almost peaceful. The kind of silence I hadn't known since before that night.
Then Adrian tilted his head, studying me. "You're different when you're not holding a gun."
My chest tightened. "Different how?"
He smirked faintly. "Softer. Almost… normal."
The word stung. Normal. I would never be normal again. Not after what I had seen. Not after what I had lost. But I forced a smile, hiding the storm that rose inside me.
"Well, maybe you're just seeing things."
"Maybe," he murmured. But his eyes lingered on me, steady and searching, as if he knew there was more behind my words than I let slip.
We stayed there until the sky darkened, until the stars began to scatter across the heavens like shards of broken glass. A chill settled into the air, but I didn't move. Neither did he.
For the first time in forever, I felt something loosen in my chest. A tiny thread of calm. I could almost believe I was Lia — just a girl in the city, laughing at dumb jokes, watching sunsets with someone who made the silence less heavy.
Almost.
But the moment I closed my eyes, the illusion cracked. Behind my eyelids, I still saw the marble floor of my home stained red. I still heard the sound of my mother's scream, my father's last breath, the cold voice of the man who had shattered my world.
That memory would never leave me.
It was carved too deep, etched into my very bones.
Adrian made me feel safe — safer than I wanted to admit — but I couldn't let myself forget. Because safety was borrowed, and borrowed things never lasted.
One day, this fragile peace would shatter.
And when it did, I would be ready.