Tomas woke to birdsong and sunlight creeping across the blankets laid out on the abandoned rooftop. For the first time in years, warmth settled in his chest — not only from Laura curled against him, but from the memory of last night's soft, trembling kisses.
She was still asleep, her arm wrapped around his waist, her cheek resting lightly on his shoulder. Tomas brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face with a care he didn't know he possessed.
Laura's eyes fluttered open — and were met immediately by his green ones, softer than she had ever seen them.
"Good morning," she whispered, a smile unfurling like a sunrise.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asked, wearing a smile so unguarded it startled even him.
Laura hugged him tighter.
"I don't want to let you go. I don't want to wake up from this."
He kissed her forehead gently.
"You're not dreaming. And I'm not going anywhere."
They stayed like that for a few quiet minutes before slowly sitting up. Laura glanced around — the blankets, the telescope, the empty wine bottle catching the morning light.
"Yesterday was…" She touched the obsidian pendant resting against her skin. "The best day of my life. When did you even find time to plan all of this?"
Tomas looked away, almost shy.
"When I told you I needed to take care of something in the city… I was preparing it. I just wanted to make a good day for someone I…" He hesitated. "Someone I like."
Her heart surged, bright and impossible to contain.
"My heart has never reacted like this to anyone."
She leaned in and kissed him — warm, slow, sure.
"I really, really like you," she whispered against his lips.
"I really like you too," he answered, pulling her into a firm embrace.
And in his mind:
I think I've just added a new point to my list — be with Laura.
They packed up the rooftop and made their way down the twelve flights of stairs, still smiling like two people who had discovered something rare.
"Breakfast?" Tomas asked as they reached the car.
"Yes!" Laura nodded instantly.
---
Sunny Kitchen Café
The small café was warm and bright, smelling of cinnamon and fresh waffles. They walked in still holding hands, and the waitress gave them a knowing smile.
"Today we have a discount for couples — waffles with berries."
They exchanged shy glances.
"At the same time," they both murmured,
"Yes, we'll have that."
Tomas, cheeks faintly pink, asked,
"So… does that mean we're a couple now?"
Laura burst into a soft laugh.
"I think we are."
The waitress brought waffles, but happiness was already overflowing at their table.
---
On the Road
After breakfast they drove home, windows slightly open, Laura humming softly to the radio. But Tomas kept glancing into the mirrors — too often.
"Is everything okay?" Laura asked, noticing the tension tightening his shoulders.
Tomas's expression changed instantly — from soft warmth to cold calculation.
"I think we're being followed."
Laura turned. Behind them: a black car with tinted windows.
Her breath caught.
"I saw that car when I left work yesterday… I thought I imagined it. It's probably my uncle's people."
Tomas nodded once, jaw tightening.
"I'm turning into that gas station. When I stop — lock the doors. Whatever happens, do not get out."
"Tomas, I'm scared… what if something happens to you?"
He gave a small, calm smile — one that didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't worry. I can handle it."
---
The Confrontation
Tomas parked at the edge of the station. Laura heard the click of her own trembling fingers locking the door.
The black car stopped behind them.
Four men stepped out.
A fifth stayed behind the wheel.
Tomas exhaled once — a soldier settling into familiar terrain.
Good. Knives, not guns. Cameras everywhere. They won't risk firearms.
They formed a half-circle.
He assessed automatically:
The heavy one — 110 kilos, slight limp in the right leg. Old meniscus injury. Slower pivot.
The left-handed one — knife on the left hip. Shoulder hangs lower. Old dislocation. Less strength overhead.
The boxer — classic stance, hands high, but left side exposed. Amateur but confident.
The youngest — eyes darting, panic breathing. He'll break first.
The missing threat — the fifth. Already circling the car. He has thirty seconds before the man reaches Laura.
The first attacker lunged — a wide slash to the neck.
Too slow.
Tomas turned his body 45°, caught the wrist with his forearm, and rammed his elbow into the man's solar plexus. His diaphragm collapsed.
Six seconds of desperate gasping. Plenty.
Tomas drove his knee straight into the patella. A sharp crack. The man fell screaming.
The second and third moved at once.
Left-handed first.
Side slash. Predictable.
Tomas ducked beneath the arc, caught the wrist, twisted counterclockwise — the radius bone snapped like dry wood.
He jabbed two fingers into the tracheal notch. The man collapsed, choking but alive.
The boxer was already behind him — knife glinting.
Tomas felt the shift in the air before he saw it.
Dropped to a knee.
Swept the legs.
The man toppled forward.
Tomas moved with terrifying precision — climbed onto his back, arm under the chin, pressure to the carotid artery.
Four… three… two…
The man went limp.
Only the youngest remained. Trembling.
"Run," Tomas said, voice like ice.
The man bolted.
But the fifth — the real threat — had reached Laura's door.
Laura screamed.
Tomas spun, sprinted—
A downward stab.
The blade plunged into his thigh.
Pain flared white-hot, but not fatal — muscle, not artery.
He seized the attacker's wrist, wrenched the knife out using the man's own momentum, twisted until bones popped.
The blade clattered to the ground.
A hard knee to the inner thigh — enough to drop him, not enough to kill.
A second knee to the face — the man collapsed senseless.
Tomas scanned the area.
Four unconscious. One fleeing.
The driver frantically tapping his phone — already sending location.
They had four minutes before reinforcements.
Tomas limped to the black car and slashed all four tires — a chorus of hissing air.
Then he returned to his own car.
Laura unlocked the door with shaking hands, eyes wide with terror.
He collapsed into the passenger seat, pressing his palm to the bleeding wound.
"You drive."
"But — your leg—"
"Home," he said quietly. "Now."
---
Aftermath
They parked a few houses away and half-walked, half-limped to the apartment. Tomas leaned heavily on Laura, though he tried to hide the strain.
"Bring the medical kit," he said as soon as they got inside.
He took off his jeans and inspected the wound — deep, but clean. No arterial bleeding. He disinfected it, pressed gauze, wrapped it tightly, motion practiced and efficient.
Laura's hands trembled as she helped.
"You got hurt because of me… If I hadn't—"
Tomas pulled her close before she could finish.
"Laura. Listen to me. I'm fine. And as long as I'm with you, I won't let anyone hurt you. You're not alone anymore."
Her breath broke, and she cried quietly into his shoulder. Tomas held her until she calmed, stroking her back with steady reassurance.
When she finally lifted her head, her voice was small.
"They think I have something my mother left behind… but I don't know anything."
Tomas grew still — thoughtful, calculating.
"Then we need to find out what they're after," he said finally. "Because they're not going to stop."
Laura looked at him — wounded, determined, and hers.
"Yes," she whispered. "I'm not alone anymore."
And for the first time in a long time, Tomas believed he wasn't either.