The city blurred behind them in streaks of rain and neon as Liam guided the black SUV through narrow backstreets. Elena sat in the passenger seat, a duffel bag clutched tightly in her lap—half-full, hastily packed, her whole life condensed into chaos.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward—it was dense, like storm clouds forming.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked.
"Safe house outside the city. An old friend owes me." Liam didn't take his eyes off the road.
Elena turned toward the window, watching the buildings thin into industrial warehouses, then trees.
She couldn't stop shaking—not from the cold, but from the knowledge that someone had found her. Again.
"He knew where I was," she whispered. "How? I changed everything—my name, my job, my address. I even stopped using my real phone."
"There are ways," Liam said darkly. "Surveillance tech. Human error. Someone you thought you could trust."
Her stomach twisted.
"I haven't talked to anyone from my old life."
"You sure?" he glanced at her. "No paper trails, no old email logins, nothing?"
"I made one call," she admitted. "To my sister. From a burner. Just to hear her voice."
Liam exhaled through his nose. "That could be it."
She turned toward him, anger sparking. "Are you saying this is my fault?"
"No," he said quietly. "I'm saying this is how they work. They watch and wait. They make you feel safe, and then they strike."
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The safe house was a run-down cabin near the edge of a dark, wooded lake. Remote. Quiet. Ideal.
Liam swept the place in minutes—checking the perimeter, inspecting the locks, resetting motion sensors she hadn't even noticed. He moved with precision, like someone trained to expect betrayal at every turn.
Elena sat on the worn couch, her knees drawn to her chest. She felt stripped bare.
"Do you ever stop moving?" she asked, watching him pace.
"Only when I know no one's coming."
He stopped in front of her, his gaze intense. "We're here for two days, max. Then we keep moving. This isn't over."
She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.
Then, softly: "What if I'm tired of running?"
He knelt in front of her, his voice low. "Then we don't run. We fight. But if we do, we fight smart."
Her throat tightened. "I don't even know what I'm fighting anymore. Him? The system that let him disappear? Myself?"
Liam's expression softened. "You fight for the part of you that wants to live. The part that's still in there."
Her eyes brimmed. "And what about you?"
He hesitated.
Then: "I fight because I couldn't save someone once. I won't make the same mistake again."
Silence.
Then, like a slow-burn match, the moment shifted—warmer, sharper. She leaned forward, their faces inches apart, breath mingling.
She didn't kiss him. But she didn't move away either.
Instead, she whispered, "Tell me something real."
He met her eyes. "I haven't wanted to protect someone like this in a long time. And it scares the hell out of me."
A long pause.
Then a sudden ping—a phone.
Liam moved in an instant, yanking his device from his coat pocket. His jaw tightened.
"What?" she asked.
"They found us."
Liam slid the phone into his pocket, his body suddenly still. Too still.
"How?" Elena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Could've pinged from the tower," he muttered. "Or someone tracked the burner. Doesn't matter. We've got maybe an hour. Two, if we're lucky."
She stood, her legs wobbly. "So what do we do?"
"We leave before sunrise." He glanced toward the window, then added, "But right now, we rest. While we can."
He disappeared into one of the back rooms and returned with a towel and a clean shirt, the tension in his jaw finally loosening as he dropped the gear by the bathroom door.
A few minutes later, she heard the water start—soft, steady. Then silence again.
Elena sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her reflection in the darkened window.
Everything felt unreal—like a dream half-remembered.
The bathroom door creaked open.
She turned her head—and stopped breathing.
Liam stood in the hallway, hair damp, shirtless, a towel slung low on his hips as he rubbed water from his face. His chest was lean and defined, small scars tracing lines across muscle and shadow. A tattoo curled over his shoulder—a compass rose wrapped in thorned vines.
He froze when he noticed her watching him.
Neither moved.
A hot flush spread up her neck. She looked away, but too late—he'd seen it. The color in her cheeks, the spark in her eyes.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
Liam didn't smirk, didn't tease. He just stood there, the air charged between them. "You don't have to be."
She rose and crossed the room, slowly—like gravity had shifted toward him. He didn't back away. He watched her like she was something he'd never dared to touch.
She reached out, fingertips brushing the tattoo on his shoulder. "What does it mean?"
He swallowed. "The compass is to remind me where I've been. The thorns… are for what I lost along the way."
Her hand lingered. "You're not what I expected."
"Neither are you."
Their eyes met—vulnerable, bare.
She whispered, "If this is all we have… just tonight…"
Liam leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "Then we don't waste it."
And for a moment, the storm held its breath.