The diner felt different after the fight.
Amara had spent most of the morning scrubbing every corner as though cleaning could erase the memory of five men barging in, of Adrian standing against them like a wall no one could move. She kept replaying it in her head—the precision of his movements, the calmness in his eyes, the way he seemed certain nothing would touch her.
But certainty didn't erase danger.
And Amara had promised herself a long time ago she would never need anyone to protect her.
By evening, she had made her decision. She would quit. Find another job—anywhere that didn't involve strange men with scars and debts showing up at midnight.
She practiced the words in her head as she served the dinner rush. By the time the clock slid past midnight, her resolve was sharp enough to carry her through.
And then the bell above the door chimed.
He was back.
Adrian Cole stepped inside, the storm clinging to his coat, his presence filling the small diner like shadow. He didn't hesitate, didn't glance around. Straight to the corner booth, as though no one else existed.
Amara's breath caught before she forced herself to move. She grabbed the pot of tea, marched to his table, and set it down harder than necessary.
"You can't keep coming here."
He looked up, brows faintly raised. "Good evening to you too."
"I'm serious." She crossed her arms, heart pounding. "This place isn't safe anymore. Not with you around. I've decided I'm done with it. I'll quit before I spend another night wondering if men like that will come through the door again."
His gaze stayed steady on her, unblinking. "Do you think leaving will keep you safe?"
Her throat tightened. She hated the way he said it—like he already knew the answer. Like he had seen more of the world's sharp edges than she could imagine.
"It'll keep me away from… whatever that was," she shot back.
For the first time, something flickered in his expression—something almost like regret. He leaned back, silent for a long moment, before saying softly, "You shouldn't have had to see that."
The honesty in his tone caught her off guard.
Amara opened her mouth to argue, but he shifted forward suddenly, his gaze falling to her hands. She froze as his fingers brushed lightly across her knuckles.
Her breath hitched.
The bandages. She'd wrapped them sloppily after scalding herself earlier with boiling water. She had been in such a rush, she hadn't thought much about it.
"You've hurt yourself," Adrian murmured, his voice quieter now.
"It's nothing," she said quickly, tugging her hand back.
He didn't let go right away. His grip wasn't rough—if anything, it was careful, as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile. "Your hands don't look like nothing."
Heat crawled up her neck. She pulled free, pressing her palms against her apron. "It's part of the job. People get burned. I don't need—"
"Help?" His voice was sharp, but not unkind.
The word landed like a stone in her chest.
She hated needing help. Hated being reminded that she was breakable. Every promise she had made to herself after her mother's death had been built on the foundation of never depending on anyone again.
But here he was, a man wrapped in shadows, looking at her as if the weight of her exhaustion wasn't invisible at all.
Amara swallowed hard and forced herself to stand straighter. "Don't pretend you care. You don't even know me."
Adrian's eyes didn't waver. "Maybe I want to."
The words stunned her. They were simple, but the way he said them—low, deliberate—made her pulse stutter.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to keep her distance. But her heart, traitorous and tired, whispered something else.
She hated that whisper.
Adrian reached into his coat and set another crisp bill on the table. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added quietly, "Don't quit the diner. Not yet."
Amara frowned. "Why not?"
His gaze darkened. "Because if danger comes again, it won't be from here. And I'd rather know where to find you."
The bell jingled softly as he rose and left, his shadow melting into the rain.
Amara stood rooted in place, her chest heaving.
She should have been furious. She should have told him never to come back.
But all she could do was stare at the bill he'd left behind, her fingers trembling as she picked it up.
Her promises to herself—to never need, never want, never depend—suddenly felt like glass, thin and cracking under pressure.
And Adrian Cole was the hammer.