The room that he gave her wasn't even a room.
It was more like a suite. Sleek, silent, and so sterile it felt like a museum for the wealthy and emotionally void. The bed was massive, layered with dark linens that looked untouched. A single wall was completely made of glass, overlooking the city's pulse. Everything else was slate, steel, or stone.
Ava stepped inside the room like she was being watched, and she probably was. They way Eitan was made shivers crawl up her spine.
Her eyes landed on a single black device that lay on the nightstand. It was apparently her new phone. There was no brand, no logo, only a fingerprint reader and a blank screen.
Ava didn't didn't dare touch it and instead turned toward the desk. In the drawer, just as Eitan had said, there was a matte-black handgun with two full clips and a silencer without a note or instructions.
And for some reason, that disturbed her more.
She pulled open the closet door and saw that there were clothes in her size, mostly black in colour. Pairs of tactical boots, sleek blazers, and even workout gear that matched what she had worn in her underground years.
How did he know and how much had he seen of her? For how long...?
Ava backed away and sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands gripping both sides of her hair.
Eitan Berger was not a man who stumbled into things. He knew her too well and that frightened her more than anything she had run from before.
---
She didn't sleep that night. Again. It was definitely going to affect her somehow at this rate.
The room was too quiet and the silence was far too curated. When she woke up, or rather, gave up trying to sleep, it was to a soft ping on the black device on the table. The screen lit up.
EITAN: 08:00. 53rd floor. Come to the training Room.
Ava scowled at the phone screen. He didn't even bother giving a greeting or explanation.
He just gave an order and expected her to comply with it...
She did anyway.
---
The 53rd floor was unlike the others she had seen so far. It was industrial, brutal, and built for combat. There were steel floorings, reinforced glass, and a small armory tucked behind bulletproof glass. It wasn't a gym, it looked more like a war prep room.
And Eitan was already there wearing all black and moving like someone who didn't care if anyone saw him bleed.
He was wrapping his hands in tape. Not the kind that was bought in stores, it was the kind people used when they intend to fight until bones crack.
Ava stood in the doorway as she watched him in silence. "I didn't think you were the sweaty type." She finally said.
Eitan didn't look up. "I'm not."
Ava stepped in, her eyes already scanning exits as she walked. "You brought me here to work out?"
"No. I brought you here so I can understand your damage." Eitan answered curtly.
She scoffed. "Psych eval in a boxing ring? Very clinical."
Eitan met her gaze. "Your file says you favor joint locks over brute force. You like control and submission. Is that still true?"
"Are we talking about fighting or something else?" Ava asked.
"Same thing." He said as he moved to the mat and gestured.
Ava slowly removed her jacket and walked barefoot across the floor. She cracked her knuckles and stepped onto the padded surface like it was sacred ground.
"First to pin?" She asked.
"No rules." Eitan countered.
She blinked at him. "That's bold."
He gave her the faintest smirk. " That's because I don't fight fair."
Then he came at her at an unmatched speed.
She ducked under his arm and aimed a strike to his ribs but he blocked it, countering with a sweep she barely dodged. He moved like someone who wasn't trained, but trained others. Calculated. Not mechanical.
They danced.
Sweat formed quickly. Her muscles screamed, but so did her instincts. She was better than most men she had fought—but Eitan obviously wasn't most men.
When he finally pinned her, it wasn't because he was stronger. It was because he anticipated her next move like he wrote it.
Ava stared up at him, breathless.
His hand rested beside her throat, but didn't touch it. His gaze was unreadable.
"You hesitate," he said.
"I don't." Ava breathed.
"You still hope they'll come for you. That someone from that nightmare will explain why it happened. You want meaning. That's hesitation."
She shoved him off, and he let her.
"I want justice," she said.
"No. You want closure."
He rose to his feet, offering a hand she didn't take.
She stood alone.
"I'm not your pet project," she snapped.
He tilted his head. "You're not a project. You're a resurrection."
She stared, pulse racing. "You talk like I belong to you."
"No," he said. "Not yet."
---
Later that evening, Ava sat on the balcony of her new suite, knees pulled up to her chest. The city buzzed below, unaware of the chess game unfolding in its towers.
She hadn't felt this unsettled in years.
But it wasn't fear.
It was tension. Curiosity. Heat.
Eitan was dangerous, yes. But it wasn't just because he was powerful.
It was because he didn't need her.
He wanted her.
Like a collector circling a rare blade.
She stared at the skyline, mind spiraling.
Then her new device pinged again.
EITAN: Your past isn't coming for you. But I am.
She gripped the phone tighter.
This wasn't safe.
It wasn't stable.
But maybe... just maybe... it was exactly what she needed.