The sun came up, but the room didn't get bright. It just turned a sickly, bruised purple color, the kind of light that makes everyone look like they're coming down with the flu. Lena woke up with her neck stiff and her mouth tasting like copper. Adrian was already gone from the sofa. The blanket was folded neatly on the cushion, the edges squared off with military precision. The spot where he'd been sitting was cold.
She found him in the kitchen. He was standing by the small window that looked out onto the alley, his hands resting on the frame. He'd put his suit jacket back on, and his shirt was tucked in tight. He looked sharp again, but in a way that made her stomach feel hollow. The softness from the night before hadn't just faded; it had been surgically removed. It was like the man who had held her had been replaced by a wax figure of himself.
"You're up," he said. He didn't turn around. He was watching a cat walk along the top of a dumpster three floors down.
"Where did you go?" she asked. Her voice was raspy and her eyes felt like they had sand in them. She felt small in her pajamas, her hair a bird's nest of tangles.
"I didn't go anywhere. I've been watching the street. There's a laundry van that's been parked at the hydrant for forty minutes. No one has gotten out to collect bags."
He was holding his phone in his left hand, his thumb tapping the screen with a rhythmic, nervous energy. He looked distant. Not just tired, but like he'd moved back behind that mahogany podium in his mind, rebuilding the walls he'd let crumble in the dark.
"Adrian?"
"We're leaving in ten minutes. Get dressed. Pack light. One bag. Whatever you can carry while running. If it doesn't fit in a backpack, it stays here."
Lena didn't move. She looked at his back, the way his shoulders were set so tight they looked like they might snap. It reminded her of Julian right before a bad night, that same vibrating stillness. "What happened? You said last night we'd just go. You said the money and the records didn't matter."
He turned around then. His face was a mask of cold stone. The grey eyes were flat. "I said a lot of things last night, Lena. It was dark and I was exhausted. Real life is different. Cassin's people found the car I parked three blocks away. They slashed the tires and left a cigarette butt on the hood. They're circling. This isn't a vacation and it isn't a romantic getaway. It's a retreat."
"You're acting different. You're talking to me like I'm a witness you're protecting, not... not whatever we were last night."
"I'm acting like someone who wants to keep breathing," he said. His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the morning. He checked his watch. "Nine minutes. Move, Lena."
Lena went to her bedroom. She felt like she'd been slapped with a cold fish. She grabbed an old backpack and shoved in some socks, a thick sweater, and the box of photos. She didn't think about what she needed; she just moved like a robot. She saw Barnaby sitting on the bed, his tail twitching as he watched her panic.
"What about the cat?" she called out, her voice cracking.
"Leave him. He's a stray, he'll find a way. Or the neighbor will find him when the rent check bounces."
"I'm not leaving him, Adrian. I'm not leaving the only thing that likes me in this city."
Adrian appeared in the doorway. He looked at the cat, then at her. He looked genuinely annoyed, his jaw tight. "Lena, we are in a situation where seconds count. You want to carry a cat carrier through the subway while men with silencers are looking for us?"
"He's all I have left of being a person," she said. Her voice was shaking, but she didn't back down. "If he stays, I stay."
Adrian sighed, a long, harsh sound that rattled in his throat. He rubbed his face with both hands. "Fine. Put him in a bag. But if he starts howling or scratching through the mesh, he's out. I mean it. I won't die for a tabby."
Internal thoughts are messy. He's lying. He's not just scared of Cassin. He's scared of what happened on the couch. He's trying to push me away so he can focus on being a soldier again. Or maybe he's just a prick who says what he needs to say to get through the night. She shoved Barnaby into a ventilated gym bag. The cat hissed and tried to claw her thumb, but he stayed quiet once the zipper closed, sensing the thick panic in the room. When she came back to the kitchen, Adrian was staring at the wall. He had a look on his face that she couldn't read—something like guilt, or maybe just boredom with the whole situation.
"Ready?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer before grabbing his umbrella from the stand.
"Are you going to tell me the truth today?" she asked, standing her ground by the door. "About why you're really doing this?"
"The truth is we're late," he said, opening the door and checking the hallway. "And the truth is that questions get people killed. Let's go."
They went down the back stairs instead of the elevator. The wood creaked under Adrian's heavy boots. He had his right hand buried in his jacket pocket, probably on the grip of the gun. He moved with a precision that was scary to watch, checking every landing before letting her follow. He didn't look like a man who had shared a blanket and a confession four hours ago. He looked like a machine built for moving through dangerous spaces.
When they hit the alley, the air was cold and smelled like wet trash and old grease. Adrian stopped at the corner of the brick building, peeking out toward the street.
"Adrian, you knew my brother was going to die, didn't you?" Lena whispered. The thought had been growing in the back of her head like a weed, fueled by the coldness in his eyes. "You didn't just fail to save him. You knew it was coming."
He didn't look at her. He just watched the laundry van. "I knew he wasn't going to live forever, Lena. Nobody does in this business. Julian played a high-stakes game with a low-value hand. You don't need to be a genius to see how that ends."
"That's not an answer. That's a dodge."
"It's the only one you're getting," he said. He grabbed her arm above the elbow, his grip firm and professional, devoid of any warmth. "Run. To the silver sedan across the street. Don't look at the van. Don't look back. Just run."
As they dashed across the cracked pavement, Lena felt the distance between them growing even though his hand was clamped onto her. The secret wasn't just about Cassin or the money. The secret was him. And as the engine of the sedan roared to life and Adrian slammed the car into gear, she realized she hadn't been rescued. She had just been traded from one cage to another, and this one was moving at eighty miles an hour.