"The girl…" the man muttered, his voice rough. "She's ours."
Adrien didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"You just made a mistake."
"Not yours to decide anymore," the man shot back.
Behind the sofa, Leila pressed her palm against her mouth. Her heartbeat was so loud it felt physical—like something trying to claw its way out of her chest.
Adrien stepped forward. Not dramatic. Not rushed. Just deliberate.
"Put the gun down."
The man gave a humorless laugh. "You think this is about her?"
Something flickered across Adrien's face. Not surprise. Recognition.
"Who sent you?" he asked quietly.
No answer.
Instead, the man lifted the gun.
The shot exploded through the room.
Leila flinched, the sound punching the air out of her lungs. Plaster cracked overhead. The smell of gunpowder burned sharp in her throat.
When she looked up, Adrien was already moving.
He grabbed the man's wrist. Not elegantly. Not cleanly. They stumbled into the wall together. Another shot fired into the ceiling.
"Drop it!" Adrien snapped.
The gun hit the floor with a hard metallic clatter.
The man struggled, breath coming fast and uneven. "You can't fix this," he spat. "You're in it too."
Adrien shoved him back.
"I know."
There was no denial. No defense.
Just that.
A short, sharp blow to the side of the man's head—and he collapsed.
Silence fell, sudden and almost disorienting.
Rain tapped against the windows again, like nothing had happened.
Leila stood slowly, her knees unsteady. She didn't recognize the room anymore. The overturned chair. The cracked plaster. The man on the floor.
"This isn't a story anymore," she said, barely above a whisper.
Adrien didn't answer right away.
His sleeve was torn. Blood seeped through the dark fabric.
She noticed before he did.
"You're bleeding."
He glanced down, almost surprised. "It's fine."
It wasn't fine. His jaw tightened slightly when he moved his arm.
Leila stepped closer without thinking.
"Who was he?"
Adrien exhaled slowly. "A message."
"From who?"
He met her eyes this time. Steady. Tired.
"From people who don't want you digging any deeper."
A siren wailed faintly in the distance.
Leila swallowed. "So this isn't just about you."
"It never was."
The sirens were getting closer now.
Adrien looked toward the door, then back at her.
"You can stay," he said. "Explain why there's a gun on your floor and a man unconscious in your apartment."
"And you?"
"I won't be here when they arrive."
She stared at him. "That makes you look guilty."
A faint, almost bitter smile.
"I don't care how it looks."
The sirens were loud enough now that she could feel the vibration in the walls.
"If I go with you," she said carefully, "you tell me everything."
He shook his head once.
"Not everything."
Her jaw tightened.
"But enough," he added.
That honesty unsettled her more than any lie would have.
Her apartment—her life—felt like something she had already stepped out of.
"I'm still writing that exposé," she said.
"I know."
"And if I find out you're lying—"
"You won't have to expose me," he said quietly. "Someone else will."
For a second, she saw it—the weight he carried. Not power. Not control.
Something heavier.
He held out his hand.
No pressure.
No command.
Just a choice.
The sirens were almost outside.
Leila hesitated.
Then she took it.
End of Chapter 2