By nightfall, it was clear that staying in the apartment was no longer an option.
He didn't say it outright at first. He never did. But I saw it in the way he kept checking his phone, in how his jaw tightened each time headlights passed the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm in that unsettling way that meant he had already made up his mind.
"They know where we are," he said. "This place is compromised."
My stomach dropped. "So what happens now?"
"We leave. Tonight."
There was no room for argument. I could hear it in his tone. The danger had shifted from distant to immediate, and whatever fragile sense of control we had was slipping fast. I grabbed my bag with shaking hands, trying to ignore the knot forming in my chest.
We moved through the city under the cover of darkness, the streets unfamiliar and sharp with tension. He drove fast but steady, one hand on the wheel, the other resting close enough to mine that I was constantly aware of it. Every turn felt deliberate, every stop a risk.
"Where are we going?" I asked quietly.
"Somewhere off their radar," he replied. "Somewhere only a few people know about."
That didn't comfort me the way it should have.
When we finally stopped, the place was isolated, tucked away from the city lights. The silence felt louder than the chaos we'd left behind. Inside, the house was bare but secure, the kind of place meant for hiding rather than living.
As soon as the door locked behind us, the tension snapped.
"You should've told me earlier," I said, anger bubbling up through the fear. "I hate being dragged into decisions I don't understand."
He turned to face me, eyes dark and unwavering. "And I hate putting you in danger. But this is the only way to keep you alive."
The words hit harder than I expected.
Alive.
Not obedient. Not useful. Alive.
"You don't get to decide everything," I said, my voice shaking. "I'm not just someone you protect. I'm part of this now, whether you like it or not."
For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then he stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath.
"You're right," he said quietly. "And that's exactly what scares me."
The honesty in his voice unraveled something inside me. We had crossed so many lines already. Enemies to allies. Strangers to partners. Somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred into something dangerous and impossible to ignore.
Outside, the night pressed in, heavy and watchful. Inside, the space between us felt just as charged.
This wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was about choices. About trust. About how far we were willing to go for each other, and what it would cost us when the world finally caught up.
And deep down, I knew we had just crossed a line there was no coming back from.