The warehouse stank of gunpowder and blood. Bodies sprawled across the concrete floor, rain still dripping through the broken roof to patter against the crimson smears.
Elena's ears rang, her temple throbbing from the pipe strike. But her knife was steady as she crouched beside the one attacker who still breathed. A young man, maybe twenty. His hood had fallen back, revealing dark hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide with pain and fear.
Damian kicked away the man's pistol before crouching opposite Elena. He held his own weapon loose in one hand, casual but not careless. "Talk, and maybe you walk out of here."
The boy spat blood. "You won't shoot me."
Damian's smirk was sharp, cold. "You don't know me very well."
Elena pressed her blade lightly against the man's throat. "Why were you ordered to keep us alive?" she asked, her voice low, deliberate. "Who wants us?"
The boy's lips curled in a mocking half-smile. "You already know."
Her stomach clenched. Syndicate. Of course. But there was more—she could feel it.
"Names," she demanded.
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Names mean nothing. You're already marked." His gaze flicked between her and Damian. "Both of you."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "Why both?"
Silence.
Elena pressed harder with the knife. A bead of blood welled. "Answer."
The boy winced, then whispered, "Because… you're the key. Both halves of the same lock." His gaze darted toward Damian. "Especially you."
Elena froze. Her breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.
She turned her head slowly, eyes locking on Damian. "Care to explain what he means?"
Damian's jaw tightened. "He's stalling."
"Or he's telling the truth." Her voice was venom.
The boy gave a wet laugh. "She doesn't trust you… good. She shouldn't."
Damian's expression flickered—something pained, buried quick. He stood suddenly, stepping back. "He's not going to say anything else useful."
Elena rose with him, knife still in her grip. Her heart pounded, her mind whirling with the boy's words. Both halves of the same lock.
"Kill him, then," she said flatly.
The boy's eyes widened. "Wait—"
But Damian's gun was already raised. One shot. Clean. The body slumped into silence.
Elena turned on him, fury sparking. "What the hell was that? He could've told us more—"
"He would've fed us just enough lies to get us killed," Damian snapped, eyes hard. "I've seen it before."
She stepped closer, chest heaving. "And I'm just supposed to trust your judgment?"
His voice dropped, rough, almost pleading. "I'm asking you to survive with me. Nothing more."
Her knife trembled in her grip. For a moment, she imagined turning it on him instead. The man who once held her heart. The man who now kept secrets that could damn them both.
The rain outside roared louder, drowning the silence between them.
Finally, she slid the blade back into its sheath. Her voice was cold. "Fine. But one more lie, Damian, and I'll slit your throat myself."
His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable. Then he gave a single nod. "Fair enough."
The truce was hanging by a thread. And Elena had no idea how long before it snapped.