The moon hung low over the compound, its silver light spilling across the courtyard like a silent witness. Nicole stood in her quarters with the curtains half-drawn, letting the cool air seep in. Sleep felt like a luxury she hadn't been allowed in years, and tonight was no different.
The memory still burned—Brian's hands on her waist, his voice warm and certain, a younger version of her believing in forever. It should have been a comfort. Instead, it was a blade twisting in her chest.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Come in," she called, her voice steady.
It was Maren—one of the guards she'd spoken to earlier, a woman with sharp eyes and a fighter's poise.
"They're waiting in the lower hall," she said quietly.
Nicole nodded, already slipping her boots on.
The lower hall wasn't meant for formal meetings, which was exactly why she used it. It was discreet, hidden behind old storage rooms where the scent of dust masked eavesdroppers. Inside, the two allies she'd hand-picked—Maren and a lean tracker named Elias—were already waiting.
"They've moved again," Elias reported, laying a crude map on the table. "South perimeter, near the old streambed. Whoever they are, they're circling us."
Nicole's pulse quickened, but her expression didn't waver.
"And Brian?" she asked.
Maren glanced at Elias before answering. "He's… aware. But he hasn't moved to intercept. It's like he's waiting for something."
Of course he was. Waiting, calculating, deciding which side of himself would win—the man she loved once, or the man who left her bleeding.
Nicole's voice softened, but her words were steel. "Then we'll move before he does. Quietly. No word gets out, not even to those you trust. If he asks, you say nothing."
They agreed without hesitation. Loyalty, once earned, was a rare and dangerous thing—and tonight, it belonged to her.
As they dispersed, Nicole lingered in the empty hall, her fingertips brushing the worn wood of the table. This was how it had to be: her plans in the shadows, her heart locked behind iron doors.
But the quiet didn't last.
Halfway back to her quarters, she heard it—the faint scrape of boots behind her. She turned, catching sight of a tall figure leaning against the corridor wall.
Brian.
His eyes found hers immediately, sharp as ever, but there was no smirk tonight.
"You've been busy," he said. Not a question.
Nicole tilted her head, masking the jolt of adrenaline with a cool smile. "I've been surviving. There's a difference."
He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. His presence was the same as it had always been—commanding, magnetic, dangerous in ways she wished she could forget.
"Surviving is what you do when you have no one to trust," he said quietly. "And I'm still here."
Her chest tightened, but she didn't break eye contact. "Are you?"
For a moment, something flickered in his gaze—something that looked almost like regret. But then it was gone, replaced by that unreadable calm she'd learned to hate.
"Don't get in over your head, Nicole," he murmured, stepping past her.
She stood in the corridor long after he was gone, her pulse hammering. The problem wasn't that she didn't trust him.
The problem was that part of her still wanted to.
Nicole forced herself to move after Brian disappeared down the corridor, but her mind wouldn't stop replaying his words. I'm still here.
It should have been reassurance. Instead, it felt like a warning.
She returned to her quarters and stripped off her jacket, revealing the slim leather holster beneath. The pistol inside was clean, loaded, and ready. It wasn't paranoia. It was insurance. In this place, in this life, trust was the most fragile currency—and she was broke.
The knock came again.
This time, it was softer, almost hesitant.
When she opened the door, a young boy stood there—barely seventeen, with hair falling into his anxious eyes.
"You're Nicole, right?" he asked, voice trembling.
Her spine went rigid. "Who's asking?"
"I… I was told to give you this." He held out a folded scrap of paper, his hand shaking. Nicole took it, scanning the hall for shadows before stepping inside and shutting the door.
The handwriting was rough but unmistakable—old block letters carved into her memory.
South gate. Midnight. Alone.
The boy was still standing there when she looked up. "Who gave you this?" she asked, voice low.
He hesitated, glancing toward the hallway like someone might be watching. "Tall man. Scar on his chin. Said if I told anyone else, I'd regret it."
A name flashed in Nicole's mind—one that made her stomach twist. Silas.
She slipped the note into her pocket and crouched to meet the boy's eyes. "If anyone asks, you never saw me. Understand?"
He nodded quickly and bolted.
Nicole sat on the edge of her bed for a long moment, thinking. Silas was many things—cunning, ruthless, patient. But subtle? Never. If he wanted her to come alone, it wasn't a request. It was a trap, wrapped in the promise of answers she didn't trust herself to want.
By the time midnight crept in, the compound had gone still. Guards made their rounds in lazy arcs, the kind of security pattern an experienced predator could slip through without a sound. She moved like a shadow, boots whispering against stone, avoiding pools of moonlight.
The south gate was a relic—half-rusted, tucked behind old storage sheds that smelled of oil and earth. And leaning against it, as if he'd been waiting all night, was Silas.
He hadn't changed much since the last time she'd seen him—same scar, same shark's grin. Only his eyes looked different now. Colder.
"Nicole," he said, drawing out her name like it was a private joke.
"You've gotten harder to find."
She didn't step closer. "You've gotten better at running. What do you want?"
"Same thing I've always wanted," he said. "To keep you alive."
A humorless laugh escaped her. "We both know that's a lie."
He shrugged. "Half a lie, maybe. There's someone coming for you, and it's not me. This time."
Her heartbeat spiked, but she kept her tone flat. "And why should I believe you?"
"Because the man you still think will save you—" Silas tilted his head, voice dropping to a razor's edge "—is the one who told them where to find you."
Nicole froze.
It was ridiculous. Impossible. And yet, the seed was planted—his words coiling around the memory of Brian's unreadable eyes in the corridor.
Before she could answer, movement flickered in the shadows behind Silas. Two figures. Then three. All armed. All advancing.
"Run," Silas hissed.
And then the first shot rang out.
The shot cracked the air, splintering the wooden post by Nicole's head.
She didn't think—just dropped to the ground as Silas dove forward, dragging her behind the cover of a rusted oil drum.
"Friends of yours?" she hissed, already reaching for her pistol.
"I told you—this isn't me." His tone was sharp, but his eyes scanned the dark with lethal precision. "They're here for you."
A burst of gunfire rattled the metal drum, sending sparks into the dirt. Nicole returned fire, her shots quick and measured. Two of the figures ducked for cover, but the third kept advancing.
Silas cursed under his breath. "South wall's open. We move now, or we don't move at all."
Nicole wanted to argue, but another bullet slammed into the drum, cutting the debate short. They ran—low, fast, darting between the shadows. The night air was sharp in her lungs, each breath tasting of dust and cordite.
When they reached the south wall, Silas shoved a loose panel aside, revealing a gap just wide enough for them to slip through. Nicole hesitated. If she left now, she'd be outside the compound, in open territory. Vulnerable.
A beam of light swept past—guards, finally responding.
"Go!" Silas barked.
She climbed through, boots hitting the ground hard on the other side. They were in the dry ravine that bordered the compound, its banks rising like jagged teeth. Silas landed beside her, grabbing her arm.
"We keep moving."
They sprinted along the ravine, the sound of pursuit echoing above them. Nicole's mind raced faster than her feet—Silas's warning about Brian, the timing of the attack, the way the guards hadn't appeared until after the first shots.
And then—
A silhouette dropped into their path.
Brian.
His expression was unreadable, but his stance was pure threat—gun raised, aimed squarely at Silas.
"Step away from her." His voice was calm, but it was the kind of calm that came before the killing.
Silas didn't move. "She's alive because of me."
"She's alive in spite of you," Brian snapped. His gaze flicked to Nicole, briefly, searching her face. "You're coming with me."
Nicole's pulse thundered. "Were you the one—" She stopped herself, not sure if she wanted the answer.
Brian didn't flinch. "We can talk when you're safe. Right now, you need to decide who you trust."
The sound of boots above grew louder—armed men closing in. The seconds stretched, brittle and suffocating.
Nicole's hand hovered near her holster. Silas to one side, Brian to the other.
She realized then that no matter who she chose, someone was going to bleed before the night was over.
The ravine seemed to shrink around Nicole, shadows pressing in until the only things that existed were Brian's steady aim, Silas's tensed frame, and the pounding of her own pulse.
Above, a voice barked orders in clipped, urgent tones. More boots scrambled into position. Whoever was after her wasn't just a stray hit squad—they were coordinated, trained.
"Nicole," Brian said again, softer now. "Step toward me. Slowly."
Silas's jaw flexed. "Don't. He'll drag you back behind his walls and tell you it's for your protection while he decides which pieces of you he gets to keep."
The air between them tightened like a drawn bowstring. Nicole's fingers curled around her pistol grip.
A flash from above—muzzle flare.
"Down!" she barked, throwing herself sideways. The shot chewed into the dirt where her head had been. Silas rolled low to the right, returning fire. Brian pivoted, dropping one of the shooters in a single, precise burst.
Then the ravine lit up.
Automatic fire tore into the ground around them, the metallic stench of gunpowder saturating the air. Shards of rock bit into Nicole's skin as she scrambled behind an outcrop.
"We're pinned!" she shouted over the noise.
"Not for long," Brian growled, moving like the firefight was a dance he'd rehearsed a thousand times. He grabbed a flashbang from his belt, yanked the pin, and hurled it up toward the ridge.
The world erupted in a blast of white light and concussive force.
Nicole's ears rang, her vision swimming. Silas took the opening, seizing her arm and pulling her down the ravine.
Brian swore and gave chase, bullets snapping past their heads.
They ran blind, dodging jagged rocks, until the ravine forked—one path narrowing into a tight crawlspace, the other opening toward a faint, flickering glow.
Silas pulled her toward the narrow path. "They can't follow in here."
Brian's voice thundered behind them. "Nicole! Don't you dare disappear with him!"
Her chest heaved. Every instinct screamed that the narrow path was safer—harder for the attackers to swarm. But the glow down the open path could be a way out… or a trap.
Another shot ricocheted off the wall, close enough for her to feel the heat of it.
She made her choice.
Nicole spun, grabbed the nearest body—Silas—and shoved him toward the narrow gap.
"You first," she ordered.
He didn't hesitate, vanishing into the shadows. She turned just in time to see Brian closing the gap, fury and desperation tangled in his eyes.
"Nicole, wait—"
A hand shot out of the darkness behind her, cold steel pressing against her throat.
"Got you."
The voice was low, male, unfamiliar—and it carried the kind of satisfaction that promised nothing good.