Ava's POV
I don't remember walking.
Only the feel of Adrian's coat wrapped around me.
The scent of him in my lungs.
Leather, rain, and blood.
We didn't speak on the ride back to his penthouse.
He kept looking at me, hand twitching on the steering wheel like he didn't trust himself to not touch me again.
I should've been afraid.
But I wasn't.
Because for the first time in weeks—my hands weren't shaking.
---
In his room, I sat curled in one corner of the bed.
He brought me tea I couldn't drink.
Towels I didn't touch.
And still, he stayed far—eyes bloodshot, clothes stained, like he was the monster in a child's nightmare.
"I'll turn myself in," he said finally. "I'll go before they find me. I just—needed to make sure you were okay."
"No."
My voice surprised both of us.
He blinked. "Ava—"
"You saved me."
I met his eyes. "They would've… they were going to… I felt it."
"I killed them," he whispered.
"I know."
I stood. My legs trembled, but I walked to him.
His hand shot up—not to touch me, to stop me. "Don't come closer. You don't understand what I've done. You shouldn't even look at me."
But I kept going.
Until I stood inches from him.
Until I could smell his skin beneath the blood.
"I'm looking," I whispered. "And I'm still not afraid."
His breath caught.
Something broke in his eyes. Some wall. Some cage.
And when he reached for me, he did it slowly. Like he was touching glass.
His fingers brushed my cheek. "You feel safe with me, after all that?"
"Yes."
"I'm the devil, Ava."
"Then maybe the devil is the only one who ever protected me."
He pulled me into him again—this time not with force.
But reverence.
Like holding me together was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
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