The boat cut its engine an hour downriver, sliding into a shadowed slip between warehouses that smelled like rust and wet rope. The man driving didn't say much—he'd tossed them a couple of towels and pointed wordlessly toward the dock ladder.
Aria eyed him as she hauled Serena up. "Friend of yours?"
"Not mine," Serena coughed, shivering.
"Then we're fucked."
The driver chuckled low, voice like gravel. "You're safe for now. Don't make it sound temporary." He lit a cigarette, ember sparking in the dark. "Get inside. The cold'll kill you faster than my employers."
Aria's knife twitched in her hand. "Who are your employers?"
He blew smoke. "The people who don't want you dead. Yet."
That wasn't much of an answer, but he was already climbing back onto the boat. A second later, the engine roared again, and he was gone, red tail light shrinking into the black.
Serena stood dripping on the dock, hair plastered to her cheek, shaking from cold and adrenaline. "I don't trust him."
Aria snorted, leading her toward a warehouse door hanging crooked on its hinges. "Congratulations. You're learning."
Inside, the hideout was nothing. Concrete floor, a cot with springs that screamed rust, a lantern coughing dim light. But it was dry, and it was theirs.
Aria shut the door behind them, braced her hands on the wood. Her shoulders shook once, twice, before she bit it down.
Serena swallowed. "You're bleeding."
Aria looked down like she'd forgotten the slash along her arm. Blood soaked through her sleeve, dripping onto the concrete. She hissed when Serena stepped closer.
"Don't," Aria muttered.
"Shut up." Serena dug through a crate until she found a rag that looked halfway clean. She pressed it to Aria's arm, firm enough to draw another hiss. "Hold it."
Aria stared at her, unblinking. "You don't know how to survive in this world, princess. You patch people up, you get attached, you die."
Serena met her gaze, sharp, steady. "I'd rather die attached than live chained."
For once, Aria didn't have a comeback.
The rag darkened, the silence thick between them. Serena's hands slowed, softer now, brushing skin instead of pressing. Aria's breath hitched, barely audible, but Serena heard it.
Their eyes caught and held. The world outside the door could've burned to ash and neither would've looked away.
Serena's voice came out low. "You called me no one."
Aria's throat worked. "I lied."
Serena dropped the rag. Her hand rose instead, fingers brushing the sharp line of Aria's jaw. Heat pulsed between them, wild and desperate. Aria's hand caught her wrist, not to stop her—just to hold.
The kiss this time was nothing like the alley. No teeth, no violence. Just slow, aching, terrifying in its honesty. Serena's chest cracked wide open when Aria's mouth softened against hers, when her fingers slid to the back of Serena's neck like she couldn't stand not to touch her.
Serena whispered into the kiss, "Then say it. Say I matter."
Aria pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. For once, her smirk was gone.
"You matter."
It landed in Serena's chest like a blade and a blessing at once. She kissed her again, harder now, hands curling in Aria's damp shirt, pulling her close until they stumbled against the cot, until the metal frame creaked in protest.
Aria broke off just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to Serena's. "This is suicide."
"Then we go down together."
For a second, Aria laughed—a sharp, broken sound. Then she kissed her again, biting this time, like she couldn't decide whether to love her or destroy her. Serena arched into it, nails dragging lines down Aria's spine.
The cot screamed under their weight. The lantern guttered. The air burned.
And then—
A sound outside. A crunch on gravel. Footsteps.
Both froze. Aria's hand shot to her knife. Serena's pulse spiked.
The footsteps stopped right outside the door.
A man's voice, muffled but clear: "Orders are to bring them back alive."
Serena's blood turned to ice.
Aria mouthed one word: Run.