The night air was thick, pressing against Celeste's skin like a warning. Every step they took through the empty streets felt like walking on the edge of a blade, each shadow stretching too far, each distant sound making her pulse jump.
Nathaniel moved with purpose, his pace swift but careful, his head constantly on a swivel. Celeste could see it now—why he had been able to find them, how he had known they were being followed. He wasn't just cautious. He was trained.
Amelia kept close to Celeste, her fingers occasionally brushing against hers, a silent reassurance. But Celeste could feel the tension in her grip, the way her body stayed coiled, ready to snap.
She wanted answers.
So did Celeste.
But now wasn't the time.
Nathaniel led them through a maze of side streets and alleyways, cutting through the city like he had spent years mapping out every escape route. After what felt like hours—but was probably only minutes—he finally slowed, glancing over his shoulder.
"They've lost our trail for now." His voice was low, controlled. "But that won't last long."
Celeste swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to steady. "Where are we going?"
Nathaniel hesitated. It was only for a second, but Celeste caught it. "A safehouse," he said finally. "Not far from here."
"A safehouse?" Amelia echoed, crossing her arms. "That would be a lot more reassuring if I didn't just find out that you apparently have enemies who track people through the city."
Nathaniel's expression didn't change. "Would you rather I left you back there?" Amelia's jaw clenched. Celeste placed a hand on her arm before she could say something that would make things worse. "Let's just get somewhere secure." Nathaniel nodded once and continued walking.
Celeste followed, but her mind was racing. The men following them weren't just after the painting anymore. They weren't after Amelia.
They were after her.
And the worst part was—Nathaniel knew why.
He hadn't said it outright, but Celeste could feel it in the way he looked at her, in the way his answers were just vague enough to avoid giving away too much.
She wasn't sure she was ready to know the truth.
But she was running out of time.
The safehouse wasn't what Celeste expected.
Tucked between two abandoned buildings, it looked like nothing more than a forgotten apartment complex, the kind no one would bother looking twice at. Nathaniel led them through a rusted side entrance, entering a dimly lit hallway that smelled of old wood and dust.
It felt too quiet.
Too still.
Nathaniel moved with ease, leading them up a set of narrow stairs before stopping in front of a reinforced door. He pulled out a key—an actual key, not a keypad or scanner, which struck Celeste as odd—and unlocked it.
The door swung open, revealing a space that was… surprisingly normal.
A small living area, sparsely furnished. A kitchen with stocked shelves. A hallway leading to what she assumed were bedrooms. It looked lived-in, but not in a way that felt like a home. More like a place someone used only when they had to.
Nathaniel stepped inside and shut the door behind them.
Amelia let out a sharp breath. "Alright. We're here. Now talk."
Nathaniel didn't react to her tone. He moved to the window, peering through the curtain before finally turning back to face them. Celeste braced herself. "They want Celeste," he said simply.
No preamble. No sugarcoating. Just the truth.
Amelia's eyes darkened. "Why?" Nathaniel studied Celeste for a long moment before he spoke. "Because she's not supposed to exist."
The words sent a chill through her.
Celeste felt Amelia stiffen beside her, her breath catching. "That's not an answer," Amelia bit out. Nathaniel exhaled through his nose. "It's the only one I can give you until I'm sure we're not being listened to." Celeste's throat was dry. "Do you know who they are?" Nathaniel hesitated. "Not exactly. But I know what they want." Celeste forced herself to keep her voice steady. "And what is that?" Nathaniel's gaze was unreadable.
"To erase you."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Celeste felt lightheaded, the room tilting slightly. Amelia's hand was on her in an instant, grounding her, steadying her. "No," Amelia said, shaking her head. "That's not happening." Nathaniel's expression didn't change. "That's why I stopped you from going into that warehouse." Something in Amelia's resolve wavered—just for a second.
Celeste swallowed hard. "You knew this was bigger than just the painting."
Nathaniel nodded. "You knew before tonight."
He hesitated. "Yes."
Amelia tensed again. "And you didn't tell us?"
"I was trying to keep you safe," Nathaniel said, his voice calm but firm. "I am trying to keep you safe."
Amelia let out a sharp breath. "And what, exactly, is your plan now?" Nathaniel glanced at Celeste again. "We figure out who's after her. And then we stop them."
Celeste's pulse thrummed in her ears. She didn't know what scared her more—the fact that someone wanted to erase her… or the fact that she wasn't sure if it was possible. Because the crack on her wrist wasn't fading. And every day, she felt just a little less real.