"Thanks for the ride, Matthieu"
"You're good"
" Did you finally withdraw the guards?. Didn't notice them throughout today"
"I didn't, maybe your skills are the one getting rusty not my Italian skills"
" Well, they're stealthy then. Aren't they?" Lila raises an amused brow
" What can I say?. I taught them well" Matthieu smirked
"Oh, well. I'd better get going"
"See ya"
Lila waved as she walked back into her building, a little smile playing on her lips.
A week later (A/N: 🙈🌚. Even the emoji is sideways 😂)
Lila arrived at work as usual today but something felt different, dangerous and even dangerously closer to her and she knew it'd hit her in the gut. Hard.
She and Camille had become closer over the course of time but Lila still felt like something bad was heading straight for her.
The morgue felt colder than usual from the moment Lila walked in. Not in temperature but in weight, in the way the silence pressed down on her stiff shoulders. Lila adjusted her gloves and forced her focus onto the stainless steel table gleaming under the lights. Death was her routine here but today, something restless coiled under her skin.
The gurney rolled in. Camille was the one pushing, her ponytail swishing, lab coat unbuttoned like she couldn't be bothered to pretend at formality.
"Another one," Camille said, parking it by the table. "Police brought him. Tight-lipped, as usual."
"Of course, they never seem to offer any explanation." Lila muttered, tugging the zipper.
The sound rasped open and her eyes blurred.
A familiar face lay inside the bag. Eyes closed. Lips blue. A boy not much older than her, one she'd seen at the edges of her father's gatherings before he passed and on the day she called Matthieu over after almost bleeding to death in her sheets. He was quiet, loyal and trained.
Her pulse slammed in her throat.
She straightened her shoulders, trying for composure. But inside, the thought struck hard: Great. Now one of ours is dead because of me. I told Matthieu I didn't want them just because of this.
She forced her thoughts to the back of her mind. Her hands shook lightly as she struggled to keep her movements steady as she reached for instruments. Guilt pressed into her chest like a stone.
Camille leaned against the counter, eyeing her expression that was ever changing. A strange thing for Lila Rousseau. "You're frowning."
"I'm not."
"You are. It's ruining your whole I'm cool and I don't give a damn what you think about me aesthetic." Camille tilted her head, eyes sharp. "You know, you're prettier when you're being insufferable."
Lila shot her a dry look. "Did you just try to flirt with me in front of a corpse?"
Camille shrugged "Not like I haven't flirted with you before"
"Not in front of a corpse!" Lila whispered
" I just wanted to try experimenting if I love being on display during the time y'know?" Lila grimaced "And someone's got to keep your narcissism alive." Camille smirked. "God forbid it shrivels and dies along with the bodies."
Despite herself, Lila's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. Camille had a way of slipping under defenses without trying. She didn't push, she never did. She teased, she flirted and somehow it was grounding.
"Focus" Lila muttered, scalpel in hand. But her chest wasn't quite as heavy anymore.
"I'm focused honey."
"Shut up and get back to work"
"Only because I love you."
Camille laughed loudly when Lila made a face at her words.
---
By the end of her shift, the weight returned. She walked out into the cool night, exhaustion dragging at her bones. And there he was.
Matthieu. (A/N: The beginning and the end of her doom. Just kidding 😂)
Leaning against a sleek car this time, not his bike, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. His expression unreadable, as always.
"Bonsoir, petite tigresse," he said, voice gravel and velvet.
Good evening, little tigress
Lila arched a brow. "I don't understand why you just keep changing languages when talking to me."
His mouth twitched. "Keeps you on your toes."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't need help with that."
Still, when he gestured to the car, she didn't argue. She was too tired with everything that happened. Too weighed down. She slid into the passenger seat.
The drive was quiet at first, headlights carving tunnels through the dark streets. Then Matthieu spoke.
"Tu as l'air fatiguée. "
You look tired.
"Sharp observation" she muttered "And stick to one language for God's sake"
Matthieu ignored her words and asked " Ce n'est pas seulement la fatigue. Qu'est-ce que tu caches, hm? "
It's not just tiredness. What are you hiding, hm?
Her throat tightened. She stared out the window. "One of ours is dead."
Silence stretched. Then Matthieu spoke softly as if coaxing.
" Ce n'est pas ta faute."
It's not your fault.
Her jaw clenched. "One of ours is dead because of me. Don't—don't try to dress it prettier than it is. It's as simple as that."
Matthieu's hands flexed on the wheel, steady.
"Ils savaient tous dans quoi ils s'engageaient. Chaque personne. Tu portes déjà assez. "
They all knew what they were signing up for. Every single one. You already carry enough.
Lila's chest ached, fury laced with guilt. "How can you be so calm about it?"
He flicked her a glance, eyes steady.
" Parce que c'est la vérité. "
Because it's the truth.
She pressed her lips together, fighting the sting in her eyes.
"But he was young."
"I know but he did know what he was getting into" Mattheiu insists softly
They pulled up outside her apartment. She reached for the handle, but his hand stopped her—light, on her wrist.
"Tu n'es pas seule, Lila. Souviens-toi de ça. "
You're not alone, Lila. Remember that.
For a moment, she felt like she couldn't breathe. She felt like it wasn't just her hands that he was holding but her throat instead. Then she yanked free, muttering, "Goodnight, Matthieu."
He let her go.
---
Inside, the silence was suffocating, mocking. Lila tossed her bag on the counter, shrugging out of her coat. She barely had time to draw a breath before a voice slid out of the shadows.
"Rough night?"
Jace.
Her head snapped up. He lounged against the window like he owned the place, smirk sharp.
"Why the fuck do you think you have the right to just come into my house anytime you like?"
"Why're you acting so fragile?. In our line of business breaking into someone's house is not something worth getting angry for."
"You think I don't know it was your guys?" she spat, storming across the room before he could blink. Her fist cracked against his jaw with satisfying force. "Killing people when you don't get your way?. Real mature"
He staggered, catching himself on the sill. "Damn, straight to violence. I like it better than your sappy act"
She didn't pause, not giving him any time to breath. A kick drove into his ribs, an elbow slammed into his collarbone. All the guilt, the fury, the grief, she poured it into every strike.
Jace blocked, countered, laughed through the pain. "Angry looks good on you, tigress."
"You killed one of mine." She swung again, knuckles splitting on his cheekbone. "You think this is a game?"
"Not a game," he rasped, twisting her wrist. She reversed, knee driving into his stomach. He wheezed, still grinning. "But you fight like hell when you're pissed. You look beautiful."
"Shut up." she hissed, slamming him into the wall. Her forearm pressed against his throat, pinning him.
For once, he didn't resist. His grin was bloody, eyes bright. "You win this round."
Breathing hard, Lila shoved off him. Her chest heaved, adrenaline buzzing hot.
"Get out." she snapped. "Before I make it permanent."
Jace wiped blood from his mouth, smirk unfazed. "Careful. Keep hitting me like that and I might fall in love."
"Out." Lila hissed at him
He raised his hands, retreating slowly toward the window. "Until next time, tigress."
And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her fury, her guilt, and the silence that no amount of fighting could erase.
Lila slid down the wall as she wept her heart out feeling helpless for the first time since she returned to France and she swore to get revenge for the poor guy that didn't even get to live his life fully.
-----