The forest swallowed them whole. Every sound—the crack of twigs, the whisper of leaves—seemed sharper after the gunfire and flames they'd left behind. Damian's grip was firm on Ava's hand, guiding her through the darkness as if he'd memorized every tree, every shadow. She stumbled once, her heels catching on roots, but he steadied her without breaking stride.
Only when the glow of the burning safehouse was no more than a faint smear on the horizon did Damian finally slow. They stopped in a small clearing, the moonlight cutting silver patterns across his face.
Ava collapsed onto a fallen log, her chest heaving. "You can't keep running forever," she whispered. "Neither of us can."
Damian didn't answer right away. He stood with his back to her, scanning the treeline, his entire body coiled like a predator. Only after several beats of silence did he turn, his gaze locking onto hers with that unnerving intensity.
"I don't intend to run forever," he said, voice low. "But I can't fight them head-on until I know who betrayed me."
Ava's pulse jumped. "You think someone close to you… gave us up?"
"I don't think." His expression hardened. "I know."
The words sent a chill through her. She thought of the glittering skyscrapers, the polished boardrooms, the empire Damian ruled with iron control. To imagine a traitor within those walls—someone trusted, someone with access—was terrifying.
"And until I find them," he continued, stepping closer, "I can't trust anyone."
The last word hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Ava looked down, swallowing hard. "Not even me?"
His silence spoke volumes.
Something inside her snapped. She stood, squaring her shoulders even though her legs trembled. "You dragged me into this, Damian. You let me grieve you, then tore me out of my life and threw me into yours. You can't keep me in the dark and expect me to follow blindly."
For the first time, his composure cracked. He closed the distance between them in two strides, his hand cupping her chin, tilting her face up toward his. His eyes burned, not with anger, but with something deeper.
"I kept you in the dark because the light would blind you," he said, his voice a low growl. "But you're right. You deserve the truth."
Her breath caught as his thumb brushed her jaw. She should've pulled back, should've pushed him away, but instead she leaned into the warmth of his touch.
"Then tell me," she whispered.
His hand lingered, but his gaze flickered, shadows clouding his expression. "I built my empire with blood and lies. Every deal I made, every partnership I signed—it was a step into The Syndicate's web. But what they don't know is that I've been cutting threads from the inside, one by one. That's why they want me gone. Not because of my money, but because I know too much."
Her stomach twisted. "And me?"
"You…" His voice faltered, rare vulnerability breaking through. "You're the one person who wasn't supposed to matter. The one who slipped past my walls. And that makes you their perfect weapon."
The air between them thickened. Ava's pulse raced, torn between fear and something far more dangerous. Slowly, carefully, she placed her hand over his, still cradling her face.
"Then stop pushing me away," she said. "If I'm already a target, let me fight with you."
His jaw tightened. He searched her face, as if weighing the cost of letting her in. And for once, Damian Cross—the untouchable billionaire, the shadow warrior—looked like a man standing on the edge of surrender.
The distance between them dissolved. His mouth found hers, fierce and desperate, the kiss igniting like fire in the night. Ava gasped against him, her hands clutching his jacket as if she could anchor herself to him. For a moment, the world fell away—the Syndicate, the betrayal, the fire. There was only Damian, alive and burning, and the terrifying realization that she had never wanted anything more.
When they finally broke apart, Damian's forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged. "This changes nothing," he whispered, though his voice betrayed the lie.
"It changes everything," she replied softly.
Silence wrapped around them, filled only by the rustle of leaves. But reality pressed back in quickly, cruel and cold. Damian straightened, his mask of control sliding back into place.
"We can't stay here. They'll be tracking us."
"Then what's the plan?" Ava asked, her voice steadier now.
Damian crouched, pulling a small tablet from his satchel. The screen flickered to life, showing encrypted files, maps, and names Ava didn't recognize.
"The Syndicate isn't faceless," he said. "They operate through nodes—powerful figures embedded in corporations, politics, crime. Cut one, another takes its place. But there's a central hub in New York. That's where the orders come from. That's where we strike."
Her brows knit. "You mean we strike."
He looked at her, hesitation flickering across his features. "This isn't your fight."
"It became my fight the moment they came after me," she shot back. "You said you can't trust anyone. Then trust me."
Damian studied her for a long moment, then finally gave a small nod. "Then you'll need to learn the rules of survival."
"What rules?"
"Rule one," he said, his voice steady again, "never stay in one place longer than twenty-four hours. Rule two, always have an exit strategy. Rule three…" His gaze lingered on her, softer now. "…never let your enemies know what you're willing to die for."
Her breath caught, understanding the weight behind his words. "And you?" she asked quietly. "What are you willing to die for, Damian?"
For the first time that night, he didn't answer. He just looked at her, the silence louder than any confession.
The moment stretched, charged with unspoken truths, until a distant crack of a branch snapped them back to reality. Damian's hand went to the weapon at his side instantly, his body tense.
"They're close," he said, his voice returning to steel. "We move. Now."
Ava swallowed hard, pushing down the fear rising in her chest. Whatever came next—betrayal, blood, fire—she knew there was no turning back.
Not from The Syndicate.
And not from Damian Cross.