The apartment was too quiet.
Ava didn't notice it until she sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, her legs swinging absentmindedly as she stared into a cold mug of untouched tea. The silence pressed against her like a second skin—tight and suffocating. Eitan had left hours ago, saying nothing more than a clipped, "Don't answer the door for anyone."
She hadn't.
But something in the apartment felt different. As if someone had been here.
She slid down from the counter and padded barefoot into the hallway. No creaking floorboards, no signs of a break-in. Still, she checked the locks again. Then the windows. Then the safe room Eitan had shown her once, the one with steel-lined walls and backup power.
Empty. Untouched.
Still, her nerves buzzed like static.
She didn't like this. Not the quiet. Not the stillness. Not the way the shadows stretched differently across the walls today.
She turned to head back toward the bedroom when her phone buzzed sharply.
Unknown Number: You're not as safe as he thinks.
Her blood chilled.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. She stared at the message like it might bite.
Was this a warning? A threat?
Ava backed away slowly, heart climbing into her throat. She was being watched. She knew it. She just couldn't prove it.
Another text came through.
Unknown Number: Check the mirror.
"What the hell?" she whispered, pulse thudding in her ears.
Her bare feet carried her almost automatically toward the long hallway mirror outside the bedroom. The surface looked the same as always—tall, clean, uncracked.
But taped to the back of it, folded twice and hidden behind the frame, was a note.
Hands trembling, Ava pulled it free.
He's lying to you. He always has.
There was no signature. Just that single, stark sentence scrawled in rough black ink.
She swallowed. Once. Then again.
Every instinct screamed at her to tell Eitan.
But if this note was right—if he had been lying—then who the hell could she trust?
Suddenly, a noise.
The front door.
She froze.
Keys in the lock. The turn. The click.
Eitan.
He stepped in without looking at her, his coat soaked in rain. His jaw was clenched, expression unreadable.
"You're wet," Ava said, quietly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he tossed the coat over a chair and moved straight to the bar.
She watched him pour a drink—two fingers of something dark. He tossed it back in one go.
"What happened?" she asked.
He didn't look at her.
"Eitan."
"I handled it."
"That doesn't answer my question."
His eyes flicked toward her, cold and sharp. "You're safer not knowing."
She took a slow step forward, the note still in her pocket. "Someone left me a message."
That made him pause.
"What kind of message?"
"A warning."
He set the glass down with a soft clink. "From who?"
"I don't know. It was anonymous."
His shoulders tightened. "Show me."
Ava hesitated, then pulled the note from her pocket and handed it over.
Eitan's eyes scanned the words. His face didn't change.
"I'll find who did this," he said simply.
"That's it?" she asked. "No explanation?"
"What do you want me to say, Ava? That this city is full of people who want to see me dead? That any one of them would use you to get to me?"
"I want the truth."
He looked at her then—really looked at her.
And for a moment, the mask slipped. Just slightly.
"You want the truth?" he said, voice low.
She nodded.
"The truth is that I've killed people to protect you."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer, gaze burning. "You think I'm cold. That I'm cruel. Maybe I am. But the moment I brought you into this, I stopped having the luxury of mercy."
Ava stood there, stunned.
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a second phone.
"Get dressed," he said. "We're leaving."
"Where?"
"Somewhere no one can find us."
She didn't move. "Running won't solve anything."
"I'm not running. I'm drawing them out."
The room felt suddenly colder. The air too still.
Ava took a step back. "I don't want to be bait."
"You already are," Eitan said. "You've been bait since the moment you stepped into my life."
Her heart cracked.
He moved toward the door.
"You have five minutes."
She didn't know what broke more—his voice, or her trust.
But she followed him anyway.
Because what else could she do?
He was all she had left.