Darius had spent his life surrounded by people, yet he had never felt truly seen.
With Amara, it was different.
They sat in his car outside her apartment long after the engine had gone cold, Abuja humming faintly around them. The city lights reflected softly in her eyes as she listened to him speak—really listened, not waiting for her turn, not pretending.
"I don't want to inherit his world," Darius said quietly. "I don't want fear to be the only language I speak."
Amara's fingers rested on his arm, light but grounding. She didn't interrupt. She didn't judge. And that made the words spill out of him faster.
"My father thinks power fixes everything," he continued. "But all it's done is turn our house into a cage."
Amara felt something crack inside her.
She had been sent to observe, to report, to destroy if necessary. Yet here he was, offering her the most dangerous thing of all—his truth.
"You're not him," she said finally.
Darius turned to her, searching her face like a man looking for permission to hope. "Promise me that."
She hesitated—just long enough to hate herself.
"I promise," she said.
He pulled her into his arms, relief flooding his body. For the first time in years, he slept peacefully that night.
Amara lay awake against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, knowing she had crossed a line she could never uncross.
She was no longer just inside his world.
She was inside his heart.