39
The city never felt so silent.
Even the sirens had gone quiet, leaving only shadows and the occasional hum of distant traffic.
We were in a safehouse—barely. Mara's eyes never stopped moving, scanning, calculating. Every sound made her flinch. Every movement made her tense.
"I can't stay here forever," I said.
"No," she agreed. "But I can't leave either. Not until I know they're gone."
I sat across from her, fingers tapping against my knees. "We can't wait for them to come to us. We have to act."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. This isn't a game. You can't 'act' and win. Not in their world."
"Then teach me," I said. "Because I can't lose you."
Her face softened, briefly. Then hardened again. "That's exactly why you're in danger."
40
The first attack came before dawn.
I was the one who saw them first. A shadow moving across the street—slow, deliberate. Two men, identical, moving like predators.
I grabbed Mara's hand. "Now."
We ran, diving through alleyways, scaling fences, ducking into abandoned buildings.
Shots rang behind us. Concrete splintered. Glass shattered.
One man tripped in the debris. I tackled him. The knife in his hand caught my sleeve. I screamed, elbowed him, pushed him away.
Mara didn't hesitate. She swung a crowbar I didn't even know was there. One strike. Then another.
I looked at her, heart hammering. "You're insane."
"I'm alive," she snapped.
41
We made it to a hidden subway tunnel—a place she'd scouted weeks before.
I thought we were safe.
I was wrong.
The first body fell.
A man we didn't even see—our only contact in the warehouse intel—lay at our feet, blood pooling. His eyes were wide, full of shock.
Mara knelt beside him. "He's gone," she whispered.
I wanted to scream. To curse. To throw everything I had at the world.
Instead, I realized something: survival in Mara's world had no heroes. Only those willing to get their hands dirty.
42
I asked her, quietly: "Why didn't you tell me it would be like this?"
She looked at me, her eyes haunted. "Because I wanted you to fall in love with me first. Then I wanted you to understand what you signed up for."
I swallowed. "And now?"
"Now," she said, "you're part of it. There's no turning back."
Her words sank into me like lead. I was no longer the man she had met under the streetlight. I was something else—someone reshaped by fear, love, and the need to protect her at all costs.
43
We reached a temporary safehouse on the outskirts of the city.
Mara fell onto the floor, exhausted. Her hands shook. I knelt beside her, trying to calm her, to remind her that I was there.
"Don't," she whispered. "You're already in too deep. You're going to…"
I didn't let her finish. I kissed her forehead. "I don't care. We survive this together."
Her eyes glimmered with tears, and for the first time in days, she let herself relax.
But the moment was shattered.
44
A message on my phone:
They know your location. Move, or she dies.
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
I looked at Mara. Her face was pale. Her lips quivered. "You can't fight them all," she whispered.
I gritted my teeth. "I'll try."
She shook her head. "No. You don't get it. They won't stop. And someone has to pay the price."
Before I could protest, the safehouse exploded in a violent, deafening roar.
Concrete rained. Flames licked the walls. Smoke filled the air.
I grabbed Mara and ran.
But I couldn't save everyone.
45
When the dust settled, the first irreversible loss was clear.
A man we trusted. A friend I barely knew, who had helped us navigate the shadows—dead. Burned beyond recognition.
Mara screamed. I screamed. And I knew then that this wasn't just about survival.
This was about paying the price for love.
46
I held Mara in the chaos. She was alive. But she looked at me differently—less like the girl I had fallen in love with, more like someone hardened by inevitability.
"You see?" she whispered. "This is what I meant. Loving me… it's the dangerous part. Not because of me, but because of what comes with me."
I kissed her anyway. Because love didn't pause for morality. Didn't pause for death. Didn't pause for reason.
And in that moment, I made another vow.
No one else would die. Not on my watch.
47
But the world we had entered didn't forgive vows.
Every action from that night forward would demand payment. Every choice a moral compromise.
We were running—not from danger, but into it.
And every step we took together pulled us further from who we once were.
48
That night, in the remnants of the safehouse, I realized the ultimate truth:
Loving Mara Vale—or Alina Morayo—was no longer just dangerous.
It was lethal.
And now, there was no going back.