The first time Julian called her, it was past midnight.
Ava was in bed, half-dreaming, her phone buzzing on the nightstand. No one ever called her that late. Her heart jumped as she reached for it.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated.
Then answered. "Hello?"
Silence. Then—his voice. Low. Tired. Different.
"It's me."
She sat up. "Julian?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I know it's late."
"What's wrong?"
A pause. She heard him breathe. "Can you meet me?"
Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Where are you?"
"Same café. It's still open. I just… I didn't know who else to call."
Ten minutes later, Ava was pulling on a coat over her pajamas, slipping boots onto bare feet. The streets were nearly empty, lit only by traffic lights and flickering signs. The rain had returned, steady and light, like the city was weeping in its sleep.
The café was quiet—just one barista cleaning up behind the counter and Julian, sitting alone by the window. He looked up as she entered, relief flickering across his face like he hadn't been sure she'd come.
"You look…" he started.
"Like I ran out the door in my pajamas? I did."
His lips twitched, but the humor didn't stay. Something was wrong.
She sat across from him. "Tell me."
Julian didn't speak for a while. He was staring at a paper napkin he'd folded into some sad, crumpled shape.
"I saw someone tonight," he said finally. "Someone I thought I'd never see again."
Ava's chest tightened. "From Istanbul?"
He nodded. "A man. He used to… work with my ex. I wouldn't call him a friend. More like a shadow. He knew things about me. About what happened."
"What *did* happen, Julian?"
He looked up, eyes bloodshot, voice low. "I didn't just leave Istanbul. I was *pushed* out."
She froze.
"Not by her. By the gallery. There were rumors. Money missing. A fake exhibit. I wasn't involved, but I was close enough to it all that when it collapsed, they needed someone to blame."
"You?" she whispered.
"I was convenient. Foreign. Too quiet to fight back. So I packed up what was left of my life and ran."
Ava stared at him, pulse thundering. "Did you—Julian, did you *do* anything illegal?"
"No." His answer came fast, solid. "I swear to you. But when you're around the wrong people for long enough, the lines blur. Guilt by association is real."
He leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
"I thought I could outrun it. But seeing that man tonight—it means someone's looking for me. Maybe trying to tie up loose ends."
Ava's mind spun. Suddenly, the past week replayed in fragments: his guarded looks, the silences, the fear just beneath the surface.
"Why tell me all this?" she asked quietly.
"Because you're the only person I've been honest with in months." He looked at her like the confession cost him everything. "And if I disappear again… I want someone to know the truth."
Her throat tightened. "Are you going to run?"
"I don't want to. But I might have to."
Ava reached for his hand again—this time not gently, but with certainty.
"Then don't go alone."
Julian stared at her, the storm outside mirrored in his eyes.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
Because something had shifted.
And neither of them would come out of this untouched.