"Now," Kellan whispered, his breath hot against Zariah's ear, "let's see how far love really goes."
The blade pressed harder into her side—just enough to sting, just enough to promise pain without delivering it. Zariah sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to cry out. Fear surged through her veins, but she would not give him that satisfaction. Not again.
Adrian didn't move.
But something changed.
The air around him seemed to tighten, his stillness no longer restraint but coiled violence. His eyes darkened—not with panic, not with desperation—but with something far more dangerous.
Calculation.
"You're making a mistake," Adrian said quietly.
Kellan laughed, a low, triumphant sound. "You already said that."
"No," Adrian replied. "I said you wouldn't like what comes next."
Zariah's pulse thundered. She could feel Adrian's focus—not just on Kellan, but on her. On the angle of the blade. The position of Kellan's arm. The way her body was pinned just slightly off balance.
Adrian was thinking three steps ahead.
Kellan tightened his grip around her wrist. "Don't test me," he warned Adrian. "I've already proven I can hurt her."
Zariah's jaw clenched. "You're a coward," she spat. "You always were."
Kellan leaned closer, his voice dripping with false intimacy. "Careful, Zariah. You don't want to distract me."
She forced herself to breathe slowly, steadily. Panic would kill her faster than the blade ever could.
Adrian took one deliberate step forward.
"Stop," Kellan snapped.
Adrian stopped—but his gaze never wavered. "You came here for leverage," he said. "For control. But you miscalculated."
"Oh?" Kellan scoffed. "How so?"
"You assumed fear would make her weak," Adrian said calmly. "You assumed attachment would make me careless."
Zariah felt a strange warmth spread through her chest despite the danger.
"You were wrong," Adrian continued. "Fear sharpens her. And attachment doesn't weaken me—it clarifies priorities."
Kellan's smile twitched. "You're talking too much."
"Because I want you listening," Adrian said.
Then, in a voice only she recognized—the one he used during training, low and precise—he spoke again.
"Zariah."
Her breath hitched. "Yes."
"On my count," he said quietly, "drop."
Her heart slammed. "Adrian—"
"Trust me."
The word struck deep.
Trust.
She had trusted the wrong man once and paid for it with everything. But this—this was different. Adrian had never lied to her. Never manipulated her. Never promised safety without preparing her to survive.
She nodded once.
Kellan scoffed. "What are you two whispering about—"
"One," Adrian said.
Zariah bent her knees slightly, muscles trembling.
"Two."
Kellan tightened his grip, sensing the shift. "Don't—"
"Three."
Zariah dropped.
The blade skimmed air instead of flesh as she fell hard to the floor, rolling instinctively just as Adrian moved.
The next second exploded into chaos.
Adrian lunged with lethal precision, striking Kellan's wrist before he could recover. The knife clattered across the floor. Kellan cursed, stumbling back, but Adrian was already on him—fist connecting with jaw, shoulder slamming into chest, driving him hard into the wall.
Zariah scrambled backward, heart racing, watching as the two men collided like opposing forces—rage versus control, desperation versus discipline.
Kellan swung wildly. Adrian dodged, countered, moved like a machine built for combat. Every strike was deliberate, every motion efficient.
But Kellan was desperate—and desperation made people unpredictable.
He reached into his jacket.
Adrian saw it too late.
A sharp crack echoed through the corridor.
Zariah screamed.
Pain ripped through Adrian's shoulder as the bullet grazed him, tearing fabric, drawing blood. He grunted but didn't fall. Didn't slow.
Instead, he roared.
The sound sent a chill through Zariah's bones.
Adrian slammed Kellan into the wall again, disarming the gun with brutal force. Kellan crumpled to his knees, coughing, blood at the corner of his mouth.
The corridor fell silent except for Zariah's ragged breathing.
"Adrian!" she cried, crawling toward him.
He raised a hand. "I'm fine."
But blood soaked into his sleeve.
Her chest tightened painfully. "You're bleeding."
"I said I'm fine," he repeated, his voice tight—but his eyes flicked to her, checking. Always checking.
Kellan laughed weakly from the floor. "Look at you," he rasped. "Bleeding for her already."
Adrian turned slowly.
The look on his face was terrifying.
"You don't get to speak anymore," he said.
He grabbed Kellan by the collar and dragged him upright with one arm, slamming him back against the wall. "You exploited her. Stole from her. Used her past to get close."
Kellan spat blood. "She was naive."
"She was human," Adrian snapped. "And you preyed on that."
Zariah pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking. "Why?" she demanded. "Why do this? Was it ever real?"
Kellan's gaze flicked to her—and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable crossed his face.
Then it hardened.
"You want the truth?" he sneered. "You were an entry point. That's all."
The words still hurt—but they didn't break her.
Not anymore.
"Let him go," Zariah said suddenly.
Adrian turned sharply. "Zariah—"
"Let him talk," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "He knows more."
Kellan smiled faintly. "Smart girl."
Adrian hesitated—then loosened his grip just enough to let Kellan breathe.
"Your father," Kellan said, gasping. "He didn't just carry information. He hid it."
Zariah's pulse spiked. "Where?"
Kellan laughed weakly. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here bleeding."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Then why come at all?"
Kellan's gaze lifted to meet Adrian's—sharp, calculating, dangerous even now. "Because someone else knows."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Who?" Zariah whispered.
Kellan's smile widened slowly. "Someone far more dangerous than me."
Adrian stiffened. "You led them here."
"I didn't have to," Kellan replied. "They were already watching."
Zariah's breath caught. "Watching… us?"
"Yes," Kellan said softly. "And they're closer than you think."
A sudden alarm blared through the penthouse—loud, piercing, urgent.
Adrian's head snapped toward the control panel.
Multiple red alerts flashed at once.
Zariah's heart sank.
"What now?" she whispered.
Adrian's voice was grim. "Multiple breaches. Simultaneous."
Kellan chuckled weakly. "Told you."
Adrian looked down at him coldly. "If she gets hurt because of you—"
"She already did," Kellan interrupted. "Long before you."
The words hung heavy.
Then, somewhere deep within the penthouse, a door slammed open.
Footsteps.
More than one.
Adrian pulled Zariah close behind him, blood still dripping from his shoulder, his body forming a shield.
"This isn't over," he murmured.
Zariah's hands trembled—but she stood tall.
"I'm not running," she said.
Adrian met her gaze.
For a split second, something fierce and unspoken passed between them.
Then the lights cut out completely.
And voices echoed from the darkness.