Blood and Shadows
The sound of the gun's trigger snapping felt louder than the storm outside.
Instinct moved Mo Chen before the bullet did. His hand shot out, yanking Lin Yue hard against his chest as he twisted them both to the side. The shot exploded in the narrow room, deafening and sharp, splintering the wooden cabinet behind them.
"Stay down!" His voice was rough, commanding.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as he shoved her toward the floor, his own body blocking hers completely. Another shot rang out, this one grazing the edge of the desk. Papers fluttered like panicked birds.
Mo Chen's hand moved fast, pulling a sleek black pistol from under the desk. Lin Yue had only a second to register it before he returned fire, two quick shots that sent the intruder stumbling backward into the hallway.
The man cursed, firing blindly as he retreated. Glass shattered somewhere behind them.
And then it was quiet again—except for Lin Yue's ragged breathing.
Mo Chen stayed crouched, his arm still braced in front of her. The faint scent of gunpowder hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of his blood.
"Are you hurt?" His eyes flicked over her quickly.
"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. "You—"
"I'm fine." The lie was smooth, but the crimson soaking through his shirt told another story.
She stared at him, adrenaline burning through her veins. "Who was that? Why—"
"Not now." He stood, pulling her up with him. "We're leaving."
Before she could argue, he had his arm around her, steering her out of the west wing. His grip was firm, his pace unyielding.
They moved quickly through the mansion's darkened halls, the emergency lights casting their shadows long and sharp. Guards appeared, weapons drawn, but Mo Chen's clipped orders sent them scattering to secure the perimeter.
Lin Yue glanced up at him as they walked. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, but his breathing was still too quick. Every few steps, his hand pressed briefly against his side.
"You're bleeding too much," she said quietly.
"Worry about yourself."
"I am," she snapped. "You're part of my problem now, remember?"
That earned her the smallest flicker of a look—half irritation, half something else—but he didn't slow down.
They reached a private elevator at the far end of the hall. Mo Chen swiped a keycard, and the doors slid open with a quiet chime.
Inside, the air felt heavier.
The elevator rose quickly, the hum of its motor filling the silence between them. Lin Yue crossed her arms, watching him lean slightly against the wall, as if the adrenaline was the only thing keeping him upright.
"You're going to tell me what's going on," she said.
"No."
Her eyes narrowed. "Someone just tried to kill you. In your own house. And you think I'm going to just pretend it didn't happen?"
His gaze cut to hers, sharp enough to pin her in place. "You'll pretend because I tell you to."
She let out a bitter laugh. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're alive because you listened—mostly."
The elevator chimed again, and the doors opened onto a space that looked nothing like the mansion's main floors.
This was… different.
Sleek steel walls. Minimal furniture. A panoramic window showing the city glittering far below.
The penthouse.
It was quieter here, insulated from the chaos below. Mo Chen guided her inside and locked the door with a code she couldn't see.
"This will be your home now," he said simply.
Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on the double doors at the far end. "And those?"
"Off limits."
She bit back the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course."
He sank into a leather armchair, one hand going to the wound at his side. She crossed the room before she could think better of it.
"Move your hand."
"Lin Yue—"
"Now."
His eyes lingered on hers, assessing, but he obeyed. The wound was worse than she expected—deep, still bleeding steadily.
"You need stitches," she said, kneeling beside him.
"I've had worse."
"That's not the point." She stood, scanning the shelves until she found a first aid kit.
When she returned, he was watching her. Not suspicious. Not cold. Just… watching.
She cleaned the wound carefully, her hands steady even though her mind was still spinning. Every now and then, his breath hitched—quiet enough that most wouldn't notice.
But she noticed.
When she was done, she taped the bandage firmly and sat back. "There. Try not to get shot again."
The corner of his mouth almost lifted. Almost. "No promises."
She exhaled, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
For a moment, silence hung between them—strangely comfortable, considering.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting instantly to something darker. "We have to move. Now."
Her stomach tightened. "What is it?"
"They weren't here for me," he said, standing and grabbing a black jacket.
She frowned. "Then who—"
He looked at her, and the answer hit her before he spoke.
"They were here for you."
Cliffhanger: The penthouse's security alarm blared, and the sound of boots thundering up the stairwell cut through the night.