The city was dressed for pleasure and pretending not to feel the heat.
Verrin's skyline shimmered with mirrored glass and secrets.
Inside the Grand Meridian Hotel, music poured like champagne. Cameras flashed.
And on the twenty-second floor, someone died.
Ava Cortez should have been downstairs fixing a senator's speech, not staring at the man's pulse stilled against white marble. She wiped the smear on her wrist with a napkin, folded it twice, and slipped it into her clutch. The habit of control was stronger than fear.
From the corridor came a rumble, heavy boots, quick orders. Security moving. Not hers.
She stepped into the hall and almost collided with a man built like a wall in motion.
Black shirt, rolled sleeves, storm in his eyes.
"Move," he said, voice low.
She did the opposite. "You're late."
Liam Ward stopped. "You called the firm, not me."
"Then they sent the best they had."
He checked her once, head to heels. "You're bleeding."
"It's lipstick," she lied. He didn't call her on it.
Down the hall, the fire alarm blinked uselessly. Smoke slid under the ballroom doors. Guests screamed in silk voices. Liam grabbed her wrist, pulled her toward the service stairs. Skin on skin, warm, grounding, too much.
"Someone tripped a charge," he said. "Small blast, east wing."
"Then we have two problems," she said. "The senator and whoever wanted to erase him."
A door burst open. A man in a mask swung a baton. Liam's body moved faster than thought: block, twist, strike. The man hit the wall, out cold. Ava kicked the fallen weapon under a cart.
"Do you always travel with murder scenes?" he asked.
"Only when invited."
The banter barely covered the rush between them. Her pulse refused to slow. His eyes held it there, dark and steady.
Another shout echoed. Liam pushed her into a narrow staff lounge, lights flickering. For a second, they just breathed the same air, adrenaline sharp as perfume.
"This room's clear," he said.
"Good." She stepped closer, not sure why. Maybe because chaos made honesty easier.
His hand brushed her jaw to check for blood. The touch lingered. Her breath caught.
Outside, sirens wailed. Inside, silence. Almost a kiss. Not yet.
A knock broke the spell, hotel security yelling orders.
Liam whispered, "Window."
She climbed first, skirt snagging. He steadied her with both hands, close enough that the line between safety and temptation blurred.
They dropped into the alley behind the hotel. Rain hit hot pavement.
She laughed once, shaky. "You still think I'm the problem?"
"I think you're in trouble."
"That's not a no."
He gave her a look that felt like a promise and warning.
"Let's get out of sight," he said.
They ran through puddles and steam toward the garage. The air smelled of smoke and cologne and something new neither wanted to name.
At the car, she leaned against the door, catching her breath.
"Why did you come, really?" she asked.
"You called."
"That simple?"
He met her eyes. "Nothing in this city is simple."
Headlights flared. A black SUV screeched across the lane. Gunfire cracked the night.
Liam shoved her down, returned fire. One bullet hit his shoulder. She pressed her hand to the wound, fingers slick with rain and blood.
"Stay with me," she said.
"I'm not going anywhere."
When the shooters fled, she looked at the blood on her palm. It matched the smear on her wrist from the room upstairs. Two scenes, one pattern.
A clue. A warning. Maybe both.
She met his eyes again. "This isn't over."
"Neither are we," he said.
The city lights flickered, then steadied, as if Verrin itself had taken a breath.
Part 2
Rain turned the streets into black glass. Sirens bounced between the towers.
Ava's heels splashed through puddles as Liam's car pulled into the alley, engine low, lights off.
"Get in," he said.
She hesitated long enough to see red and blue lights painting the end of the street, then slid into the passenger seat. The leather was warm; his blood wasn't.
"You need a hospital," she said.
"You need a story."
The car moved. Neither spoke for the first mile. The city outside looked blurred, half-asleep, the kind of night when sins felt louder than prayers.
At a red light, he finally said, "Who was the senator meeting before he died?"
"Someone important enough to stay invisible," she said.
He glanced at her. "You're shaking again."
"It's cold."
"It's fear."
She looked out the window. "You sound like my therapist."
"You sound like someone running out of lies."
They reached the parking garage under her building. Liam killed the engine, pressed a cloth against his shoulder, winced, and smiled through it.
"You should let me help," she said.
"You already did."
A beat of silence stretched until she reached over and replaced his hand with hers, holding the cloth steady. His breath hitched; hers followed.
The air thickened, warm from the heater and the closeness.
"Keep pressure here," he murmured.
"Like this?"
"Exactly like that."
The moment balanced on the edge between need and sense. She pulled back first, clearing her throat. "I'll get the med kit upstairs."
They climbed the stairs to her penthouse. Every step echoed. Inside, the city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling glass, throwing reflections across her minimalist living room.
He dropped his jacket on the counter, exposing the wound. It looked worse than it was. She cleaned it in silence, the smell of antiseptic sharp in the air.
"You've done this before," he said.
"More times than I want to remember."
"Who patched you up?"
"Someone who doesn't anymore."
He watched her hands. "You hide nerves well."
"I was trained to."
"By who?"
She didn't answer.
Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, she taped the last strip of gauze, stepped back, and caught her reflection beside his in the glass. Two shapes, one secret too many.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number: We saw you. Delete the footage.
She froze. Liam noticed. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she said, slipping the phone into her pocket.
He wasn't buying it. "You're not safe here."
"You think anywhere is?"
"Tonight, I do." He opened the door. "Pack a bag."
She stared at him, then at the city below, Verrin pulsing like a living thing, hungry for another scandal. She didn't know if following him was safety or suicide, but the alternative was silence and fear.
Ava grabbed her coat. "Five minutes."
He waited in the doorway, a shadow framed in red light. When she passed him, he said, "You trust me now?"
"No," she said. "But you bleed for me. That's a start."
They left as another storm cracked open over the skyline.
Somewhere above, a drone camera tracked their car turning onto Meridian Avenue.
The unseen watcher typed three words: THE FILE LIVES.