Cynthia Brooks stood by the tall glass window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she stared down at the city lights below. Cars moved like distant fireflies, unaware of the chaos that had ruled her life just days ago. The silence felt unnatural—too calm, too final—like the pause after a gunshot.
Behind her, Alexander Voss watched her carefully.
He hadn't slept. Not really. Even now, with the danger supposedly gone, his body remained tense, instincts sharp. Men like him didn't relax just because the enemy stepped back. They waited. They listened. They prepared.
But this time… it was different.
"They're gone," Mr. Heathcliff had said earlier, his deep voice steady. "My sources confirmed it. The group has pulled out. No eyes on the building anymore."
Alexander trusted Heathcliff. He had saved his life more than once.
Still, trust didn't erase guilt.
Cynthia turned slowly. Her eyes met Alexander's, searching—always searching—for something she couldn't name. Safety, maybe. Or reassurance that none of this had been her fault.
"So that's it?" she asked softly. "Just… over?"
Alexander hesitated. Then he nodded.
"For now. They won't come back. Not after what happened."
Not after Lydia West was killed.
Not after they realized Alexander would burn the world down before letting anyone else get hurt.
Cynthia swallowed. Lydia's face still haunted her dreams. The pictures. The anonymous number. The fear that had wrapped around her chest like iron.
he word came out sharper than he intended. He took a breath, softened his tone.
"Everything did now—too much sense.
Julianne had called earlier, furious and terrified in equal measure, insisting she should be there with Cynthia no matter the danger. Cynthia had promised they'd meet soon, somewhere safer. Somewhere normal.
Normal. The word felt foreign.
Alexander walked toward her, stopping a careful distance away. He never touched her without permission—not after everything. But his presence alone felt grounding, solid.
"I've arranged a relocation," he said. "Different city. New identities if you want them. Evan is handling the details."
Cynthia blinked.
"You make it sound like a business deal."
"It's the only way I know how to protect people."
She studied his face—the sharp jaw, the tired eyes, the faint shadow of something broken beneath his composure.
"You didn't have to do all this," she said quietly. "You could've let me go earlier."
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"I tried," he admitted. "I pretended not to care. I pushed you away because I thought distance would keep you alive."
"And did it?"
"No," he said honestly. "It just made it harder."
The words hung between them, heavy and real.
Cynthia took a step closer. Then another. Her voice trembled—not with fear this time, but emotion.
"I was terrified," she whispered. "But the worst part wasn't the danger. It was thinking you didn't care at all."
Alexander's breath hitched.
"I care," he said, his voice low. "More than I should. More than is safe."
Silence followed—but it wasn't empty. It was charged.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Cynthia felt the weight on her chest ease slightly.