19
The man waiting downstairs wasn't subtle.
He stood near the entrance of my building, dressed too cleanly for the neighborhood, shoes untouched by dust, hands folded like he belonged somewhere important. When I stepped outside, he smiled as if he'd been expecting me all morning.
"Elian," he said.
I stopped.
"I don't believe we've met."
"We haven't," he agreed. "But I know you."
That wasn't surprising. Nothing was, anymore.
He glanced up at my apartment window. "Lovely view. Quiet place. Safe, too. For now."
My jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
He tilted his head. "Conversation."
"I'm late."
"You won't be," he said. "Not after this."
He handed me a business card. No name. Just a number. And a symbol embossed into the paper—a small, deliberate mark, like a signature no one was meant to recognize.
"Tell Alina," he added gently, "that Mr. Grey sends his patience."
Then he stepped aside, clearing my path like a polite stranger.
I walked past him, pulse hammering, every instinct screaming.
By the time I reached the corner, he was gone.
20
Mara knew the moment I came back inside.
She looked at me like she'd been bracing for impact all day.
"He found you," she said.
I nodded.
Her shoulders sagged—not in defeat, but in resignation. Like someone who had always known the clock would run out.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For turning you into leverage."
I held up the business card.
Her face drained of color.
"He shouldn't have come himself," she said. "That means he's bored."
"That's comforting."
She didn't smile.
21
We argued again—but this time it was different.
"Give him what he wants," I said. "You said you kept copies."
"That's not what he wants," she snapped.
"Then what?"
She swallowed. "Control. Silence. Proof that no one escapes him."
I paced the room. "So what—he just kills us?"
"He won't kill you," she said quietly.
I stopped.
"What?"
"You're not the target. You're the message."
The words settled heavy in my chest.
"You leave," she continued. "You walk away. Publicly. You make it boring."
"No."
"Elian—"
"I'm not abandoning you."
Her eyes flashed. "You already are, by staying."
22
That night, she packed a bag.
Not dramatically. Not angrily. Just efficiently, like someone trained to leave fast.
"I'll draw him away," she said. "I always do."
"You won't do this alone."
She stepped close to me, gripping my shirt.
"You don't understand," she said fiercely. "People around me get hurt."
"So do people who love me," I said. "That didn't stop you."
Her eyes filled—but she didn't cry.
"I never planned to love you," she whispered.
"Neither did I."
23
The next morning, the city woke up to sirens.
A body was found two streets over. Male. Mid-thirties. No identification.
I recognized him immediately.
The man who'd once helped me move into this apartment.
The man who'd watched my door when I was sick.
The man who had nothing to do with Mara.
My neighbor.
The message was clear.
Mara stood beside me as we watched the police tape flutter in the wind.
"They've escalated," she said.
I clenched my fists.
"This is my fault."
She shook her head. "No. It's mine."
24
Fear does something strange to love.
It strips away fantasy and leaves only truth.
That day, I learned that the truth about myself was darker than I'd imagined.
I didn't want to run.
I wanted revenge.
25
I started digging.
Old contacts. Favors owed. Information traded in whispers.
Mara tried to stop me.
"This world doesn't forgive amateurs," she warned.
"I'm not an amateur," I said. "I just forgot who I used to be."
She looked at me then—really looked—and something like fear crossed her face.
"What did you do before?" she asked.
I smiled without warmth.
"I survived."
26
We found a lead three days later.
A shell company. A financial trail. A name buried deep enough to think it was safe.
Grey wasn't his real name.
He was careful—but not invisible.
"This is dangerous," Mara said as we studied the documents.
"Everything about you is dangerous," I replied. "I'm just catching up."
She reached for my hand.
"If this goes wrong…"
"It already has."
27
The night we decided to act, the city lost power.
Not everywhere. Just enough.
Streetlights flickered. Cameras blinked out.
I should've known it wasn't a coincidence.
We were halfway to the meeting point when a car swerved in front of us, forcing us to stop.
Doors opened.
Men stepped out.
Too calm. Too prepared.
Mara's hand tightened around mine.
"I told you," she whispered. "He waits."
28
They didn't take me.
They took her.
Everything happened fast—shouts, glass breaking, someone hitting the ground.
I fought. Badly. Desperately.
But I wasn't trained.
I was in love.
The last thing I saw was Mara being pushed into the car, her eyes locked on mine.
Not afraid.
Regretful.
The car disappeared into the dark.
29
I sat on the pavement, blood in my mouth, shaking.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
You chose wrong.
30
That was the moment.
The moment something in me broke cleanly in half.
The moment I stopped being the man she met under the streetlight.
And became the man who would burn the world to bring her back.