I didn't know what time it was when I woke again. The windows were darker now, rain smeared across the glass in heavier strokes, the room dim except for the glow of the hallway light spilling across the floor. James wasn't in the bed. The space beside me was still warm.
My body ached, but not from fear. Not from exhaustion. Just from the weight of everything that had happened. The scent of him lingered on the pillow, woodsmoke and iron, and it curled into my chest like a second heartbeat. There was something raw beneath my ribs, like the edges of a scream that never quite formed.
I found him in the living room.
He wasn't seated. He was standing at the window, shirtless, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in low, clipped tones I couldn't make out. The glow from the streetlight outside framed him in pale orange, tracing the lean muscle of his back, the scars that rippled down from his shoulder blades like lightning. I hadn't seen those before.
He ended the call without looking at me. Set the phone down on the counter. Still didn't speak.
"You should've stayed asleep," he said finally, voice hoarse.
I stepped forward, quietly. "Couldn't."
He turned, and I saw the lines under his eyes. Not just tired. Haunted. There was something about him now that felt older than his body, something coiled too tight for skin to hold. I didn't ask about the call. He didn't offer.
"You know what you saw earlier," he said. Not a question.
I nodded.
"Do you hate me for it?"
"No."
He stared at me, like he didn't believe it. Like he couldn't. But he didn't push. He stepped away from the window and crossed the room in a few strides. His hands cupped my jaw, rough thumbs brushing the corners of my mouth.
"I told you they'd come. I just didn't think it would be this soon."
I swallowed. "Who are they?"
He hesitated.
"People I used to work with. People who don't like being left behind."
"You said you walked away."
"I tried. But when you walk away from hell, sometimes hell walks after you."
I didn't flinch. I let the silence stretch until it broke naturally.
"You said they might hurt me."
"They won't get the chance."
There was no bravado in his voice. No heat. Just fact.
I reached for his wrists. Held them. "Then tell me. What are we walking into?"
His jaw worked. "Something I never wanted to bring near you."
"But it's here."
He nodded.
Outside, a car passed. Slow. Deliberate. James tensed.
"Get away from the windows."
I didn't argue. I followed him back toward the hallway. He moved like someone expecting the worst, and I realized I had never really seen him scared. Not like this.
He opened the hidden door behind the bookshelf again. The staircase that descended into the dark felt colder now, the air thicker. He didn't say anything as he flipped the switch and led me down.
The lights flickered, then steadied.
I saw more this time.
Weapons. Files. A half-burned photo of a younger James in a military jacket I didn't recognize. A steel cabinet with initials stamped on the front: V.E.R.S.
He saw me looking.
"That's what they called the program."
"What does it mean?"
"Violent Entry. Retrieval Specialists."
I felt my throat tighten. "What did you retrieve?"
He didn't answer.
Not yet.
James moved past the cabinet and opened a locked drawer beneath it. Inside was a folder, thick and yellowing, the corners curled like it had been clutched too many times. He didn't hand it to me, just laid it on the table and flipped it open.
Photos. Maps. Logs. Surveillance stills with timestamps I didn't recognize. Faces circled in red. Some crossed out.
"This is the part I can't take back," he said.
I looked at the pages. Some were stamped with words like eliminated, others with coordinates and phrases like recovered successfully or classified object in transit. It felt like I was watching the aftermath of a storm from a hilltop, far enough not to feel the wind, but close enough to see the ruin.
"What were you?" I asked softly.
His answer was just as soft. "Efficient."
We stood in silence.
Then his hand reached for mine.
He didn't grip it. He didn't squeeze. Just touched it. Warm and real. It was the only thing in that basement that felt like it still belonged to this world.
"I want to protect you, Kristina. But that means dragging you into a world I spent my life trying to escape."
I met his gaze. "Then don't drag. Let me choose to walk."
James stared at me, something in his expression uncoiling. For the first time, I saw him let go of the edge.
"I think I already did," he said.
He stepped back, closed the file, locked the drawer.
"We have to disappear for a while. Just until I can figure out who's making moves. Until I know if they're watching you… or trying to use you."
I nodded. I didn't ask where we were going. I didn't need to.
James pulled a duffel from the back corner and started filling it with carefully selected items, tools, weapons, cash. Then he added one last thing: a small velvet box from a hidden wall compartment.
"What's that?" I asked.
He opened it.
Inside was a ring. Simple, thin, silver. But instead of a diamond, the setting held a tiny key.
"It's not for marriage," he said. "It's a key to something only I can show you. When you're ready."
Then he slipped it into my palm.
I closed my fingers around it without a word.
James left nothing behind. Every drawer he emptied, every shelf he cleared, he moved like a man who'd done this before. No hesitation. No nostalgia. Just precision.
We left out the back, rain still steady in the alley, the hush of tires hissing on wet pavement. He had a car stashed two blocks away, black, unremarkable, but with plates I knew weren't real.
I didn't ask questions.
He drove in silence for a long time. The city faded behind us, lights giving way to trees, to back roads, to a darkness that felt thicker than night. Eventually, the sound of rain was the only thing keeping time.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked.
"There's a place I kept for emergencies. No one knows about it."
The road narrowed, gravel crunching under the tires. We turned down an overgrown path that barely counted as a driveway.
It opened onto a cabin.
It wasn't much. Weathered wood, shuttered windows, moss crawling up one side. But it was hidden. And for now, that was enough.
James killed the engine.
"Go inside. I'll sweep the perimeter."
I obeyed.
The cabin was cold, but dry. Dust clung to everything, but it felt… untouched. Like time had paused here, waiting for him.
When he returned, he was soaked, hair dripping onto his shirt. He said nothing, just stripped off the wet layers, left them in a pile, and pulled me into his arms.
We didn't talk. We didn't kiss. We just stood there, holding each other like it was the only thing that made sense.
That night, sleep didn't come easily. My body rested, but my thoughts didn't. Every shadow in the cabin felt like it had weight. Every creak in the boards under the wind made me wonder who might be listening. But James was beside me, his breathing steady, one arm wrapped over my waist like a tether.
In the middle of the night, I reached for the key again. It lay cool and silent in my palm.
What did it open?
Why had he given it to me now?
Was it a test? A promise? A warning?
I closed my hand around it and let it press into my skin.
When morning came, I found James already awake, boiling water on a battered stove.
"We'll only stay here for two days," he said. "Then I'll move us again."
"Can we run forever?" I asked.
"No," he said. "But we can last long enough to make them regret ever coming after us."
He handed me a cup of bitter black coffee.
I drank it without sugar. Without cream.
It burned a little. But it made me feel awake.
"I'm ready," I said.
James looked at me, long and hard.
And then he smiled.
Not the crooked smirk I was used to. Not the wolf's grin.
Just something quiet.
Something real.
Something that made me think, maybe, just maybe, I hadn't stepped into hell at all.
Maybe I'd stepped into fire.
And fire, I could learn to love.