Ava stood at the edge of the hotel suite's balcony, her fingers gripping the cold railing like a lifeline. The night wind whipped through her loose shirt, sending goosebumps down her arms. Her eyes weren't on the street below—they were watching the city skyline like it held secrets only she could decipher.
Behind her, Eitan was pacing the room, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low, sharp. "I don't care how you do it. I want the leak silenced by morning."
Ava didn't flinch. Not at the threat, not at the steel in his tone. She was getting used to this version of him—this man who didn't blink when ordering destruction. Who looked at her like she was both asset and addiction.
The call ended.
Eitan set the phone down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's spreading. Fast."
Ava turned from the balcony, folding her arms. "You think it's one of your own?"
He met her eyes. "No. It's yours."
Her breath caught.
She shook her head, stepping back. "I haven't spoken to anyone. I haven't seen anyone since the penthouse."
"Someone knows where you are. And if they know that, they'll come. Not to negotiate. To retrieve."
The way he said the word made her stomach churn.
"Then let them come." Her voice was flat, but her hands trembled.
Eitan moved closer. Not to threaten, but to study her. "You're brave. But not stupid. I can't protect you if you won't tell me everything."
She looked away. "You don't need to protect me. I just need time."
His jaw tightened. "Time's the one thing we don't have."
The room buzzed with silence. Thick. Heavy.
Then, a knock at the door.
Ava froze. Eitan reached into his jacket for a weapon and nodded to her.
"Bedroom. Now."
She obeyed without argument, heart pounding.
He opened the door a crack, gun at his side. A man in a grey suit stood in the hall. Not threatening, but familiar.
"I told you not to show up here," Eitan hissed.
The man raised a brow. "And yet, here I am. We have a problem."
"I'm aware."
The man stepped in, glancing around. "This place is compromised. You'll need to move her again. They've got eyes on the west side."
Eitan's grip on the gun didn't loosen. "Then give me options."
"There's a safehouse in the Heights. Quiet. Wired. Untraceable. But you'll have to keep her underground for at least seventy-two hours."
Eitan exhaled. "Fine. We move tonight."
The man looked toward the closed bedroom door. "She worth all this?"
Eitan didn't answer. He didn't need to.
—
Ava sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest. She could hear them through the walls. Planning. Moving pieces.
She wasn't scared. She was tired.
When Eitan finally entered the room, he tossed a bag at her feet. "Pack. Essentials only. We're moving in ten."
"Where?"
"Somewhere they can't reach you."
She nodded, standing. "Am I allowed to ask questions yet?"
He stared at her for a beat. "Later."
Ava didn't push it. Not now.
They moved through the service elevator, down to the garage where a different car waited. This one wasn't flashy. It was dark, forgettable. Just like the route they took.
No words passed between them for the first thirty minutes.
Then Ava finally spoke. "Why are you doing this?"
Eitan didn't look at her. "Because they're not afraid of you. But they're afraid of me."
"That's not an answer."
His knuckles tightened on the wheel. "It's the only one you get for now."
They reached the Heights close to midnight. The safehouse looked like any abandoned townhouse—peeling paint, dead lights, weeds creeping through the sidewalk.
Inside, it was the opposite.
Polished floors. Armored locks. Clean lines. A steel door that slammed shut behind them like a vault.
Eitan dropped his keys on the counter. "This is where you disappear."
Ava sat on the edge of the kitchen stool, watching him.
"You've done this before," she said quietly.
He nodded. "More times than I care to admit."
"So what now?"
Eitan met her gaze. "Now, we wait. And while we do, you're going to tell me everything. Every face, every name, every threat."
She hesitated. "Why do you care so much?"
"Because whatever you ran from," he said, stepping closer, "just declared war on me."
She shivered under the intensity of his voice.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
"No," Eitan said. "But I chose it."
—
He left her alone for a while, disappearing into a back room. Ava sat in the safehouse's living area, staring at the security feeds flickering across the TV screen. Four angles. All clear.
She should've felt safe. But something inside her twisted.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the burner phone she thought she'd gotten rid of. It buzzed once.
A message.
"Still alive, sweetheart?"
Her chest clenched.
The sender was blocked. The timing—too perfect.
She typed quickly: "What do you want?"
Seconds later: "To come home. We all do."
Another buzz.
"But you just had to go and crawl into his arms, didn't you?"
Her blood ran cold.
"Eitan!" she shouted, rising from the couch.
He was already storming out of the hallway, gun in hand. "What happened?"
She showed him the screen.
His eyes darkened. "Get upstairs. Now."
She obeyed.
He stared at the phone for a long time. Then crushed it in his hand.
No more messages.
Only promises.
Only war.