3rd person pov
The moment Kail saw Nyara sprint up the stairs with Iyla clutched tightly in her arms, something shifted deep inside him—something old and primal, a need to protect what he hadn't even realized he'd begun to claim as his.
The front door burst open behind him. A group of gang members stormed in, weapons drawn, eyes blazing with the intent to kill. Kail stepped forward, silently positioning himself at the foot of the staircase, his broad frame blocking any path that might lead to them.
"Well, look who it is," one of the men sneered. "The monstrous Kali himself. Here to save your little family?"
No more words were exchanged. The first punch came fast, followed by a hail of gunfire and fists. Kail moved like a shadow, precise and brutal—dropping two men before the third managed to flank him, a bullet grazing his side.
"See?" the man spat, watching Kail bleed. "That little family made you weak."
Then came the knife. A cold sting as the blade plunged into his shoulder.
Upstairs, Nyara trembled in a closet, her back pressed to the wall, Iyla's small frame hidden behind her. They were both covered in blood—not their own, but the sight of it on Iyla's skin made Nyara feel sick. Her arms clutched her daughter tightly, tears silently falling as chaos erupted below. The sharp cracks of gunfire, the thuds of bodies, the grunts of pain—it was all too much.
Kail, fueled by something deeper than anger, something closer to instinct, refused to fall. The pain didn't register anymore. He killed two more men with ruthless precision, but when the clicks of empty chambers sounded, he tossed his empty gun aside—only to break it down and use the metal to bludgeon and stab.
The final attacker swung at his injured shoulder. Kail didn't flinch. He only smiled, cold and wild, before driving a piece of the weapon into the man's throat.
Then—silence.
Nyara flinched as footsteps creaked on the wooden floorboards, growing closer. Her breath caught in her chest as she heard a soft knock on the closet door.
"It's me," Kail said quietly. "You can come out now."
Nyara hesitated, gun trembling in her hand, but something in his voice… steady, calm, familiar—told her she could trust him. She turned to Iyla, gently holding her hand as she stepped out. The sight before her made her pause.
Kail stood there, shirt soaked in blood, a gash on his side and a knife still embedded in his shoulder—but his eyes were steady, locked on her.
"It's not safe here," he said before she could speak. "Do you have somewhere else to go?"
Nyara nodded slowly. "A vacation home… just outside S City."
He didn't press further, only said, "We need to get the blood off. We can't leave like this. People might see."
Nyara looked down at Iyla, who seemed paralyzed—scared and exhausted. Turning back to Kail, she said softly, "There's another bathroom down the hall. There might be clothes that fit you."
Kail gave a short nod and left the room. Nyara locked the door behind him and took Iyla into the bathroom. She tried to steady her hands as she washed the blood off their skin. It felt sticky, smelled like metal. Iyla sat silently in the tub, wide-eyed, while Nyara scrubbed gently, trying not to break down.
"Are the bad men gone?" Iyla whispered.
Nyara's breath hitched. "They won't hurt Mommy anymore. I promise."
Later, freshly cleaned and dressed, Kail met them in the hallway. Nyara stood holding Iyla against her chest. Her voice was firm but shaking. "Who are those men? Why did they come after us?"
Kail paused. He wasn't ready to give her everything. Not yet.
"My name is Kail. I come from a powerful family. Those men thought you were my secret lover—and that she was our daughter. They saw you both as a weakness… and that's on me. I'm sorry."
Nyara's eyes widened. "So they came after us because they were angry at you?"
"Yes," he said simply. "And I won't let them do it again."
She studied him. "I'm Nyara. This is my daughter, Iyla."
Kail nodded once. "Have you packed? Don't forget important documents."
"We're ready."
He slung the bags over his shoulder and turned toward the stairs. "Stay behind me. Cover the child's eyes. Keep yours closed. Hold on to my shirt."
Nyara threw a blanket over Iyla, shielding her face where she rested against her neck. With her free hand, she clutched Kail's shirt. Something in her—instinct or something deeper—told her she could trust him completely.
Kail guided them down the stairs, carefully stepping around blood and bodies. The metallic scent was overwhelming, but he never let his guard drop. At the front, he paused.
"Where are your car keys?"
"Table by the door," Nyara said.
Kail grabbed them, and they slipped out the penthouse and went into the parking garage. "Open your eyes," he said.
They made it to the car. Nyara buckled Iyla into her car seat, and Kail slid into the driver's side, tossing the bags in the back. Nyara sat beside him, one hand resting near his gun in case she needed it.
The drive was silent.
Kail stayed sharp, watching mirrors and shadows, alert for any sign they were being followed. Nyara kept glancing back at Iyla, who clutched her teddy bear tightly. Eventually, the little girl's eyes grew heavy, and she drifted off to sleep, the lights outside blurring as they passed.
When Nyara looked again, Iyla was smiling faintly in her sleep.
She felt safe.
A few hours later, the car pulled up to the gates of a mansion tucked quietly outside S City.
Their journey wasn't over—but for the first time in a long while, Nyara felt like maybe… they had a chance.