Page 8 — The Safehouse
They drove in silence.
The city faded behind them, swallowed by fog and distance, replaced by the endless hum of the highway and the low thrum of rain on the windshield. Adrian's hand gripped the steering wheel tightly — too tightly — veins drawn taut beneath pale skin. Every so often, his gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, scanning the darkness as if ghosts might be following.
Eli sat beside him, curled in his seat, the faint glow of the dashboard painting his face in shades of blue and shadow. He wanted to speak — to ask questions, demand the truth — but every time he glanced at Adrian, the words withered on his tongue.
There was something different about him now. Not the careful calm he wore in the city, but a raw, dangerous edge — a man stripped of control, running from something even he couldn't outmaneuver.
Hours passed before Adrian finally pulled off the main road, guiding the car down a narrow, winding path that disappeared into the trees. The sound of gravel crunched under the tires until they stopped in front of a weathered cabin, half hidden by fog.
"This is it," Adrian said, his voice low.
Eli looked at the place — small, old, isolated. "A safehouse?"
"One of many," Adrian replied, stepping out. "This one's off record."
Eli followed him into the cold air, shivering as mist clung to his hair and clothes. Inside, the cabin was dim but clean — a fireplace, two armchairs, a table stacked with old files and a single flickering lamp. The scent of pine and smoke filled the room, grounding yet eerie.
Adrian locked the door behind them, checked the windows twice, then finally let out a long breath. For the first time in hours, he looked human again — tired, wounded, and fragile in ways Eli had never seen before.
"You should sit," Adrian said. "You haven't slept."
Eli crossed his arms. "Neither have you."
Adrian gave a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Old habits."
He shrugged off his coat, wincing slightly when his arm brushed the bandage Eli had wrapped around his shoulder earlier. Eli noticed and immediately stepped closer. "You're still bleeding."
"I'm fine."
"You always say that," Eli muttered, already reaching for the first aid kit on the table. "Sit."
Adrian hesitated, then obeyed. He didn't flinch as Eli knelt in front of him, carefully peeling away the blood-soaked bandage. The wound looked angry and deep, a reminder of the night that nearly killed them both. Eli cleaned it in silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken questions.
Finally, he asked quietly, "Who were they?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. "People I used to work for. A network that moves in the shadows — contracts, cover-ups, control. They make people disappear, rewrite truths."
"And you were part of it."
"Yes."
Eli's fingers stilled. "So when you found me…"
Adrian looked down at him. "You were supposed to be another job."
Eli's heart twisted painfully. "And you couldn't do it."
"No," Adrian said softly. "Because you looked at me like I was worth saving."
Eli met his eyes — blue, sharp, and haunted. "You were."
Adrian's breath caught for a moment, the mask of detachment flickering. "You shouldn't believe that."
"Then stop proving me right."
The words lingered between them, fragile and defiant. Adrian looked away first, staring into the fire that crackled faintly in the hearth. The flames threw golden light across his face, softening the edges of a man built from shadows.
"You don't understand what this means," he murmured. "They won't stop until one of us is dead."
"Then let them come," Eli said quietly. "I'm not running anymore."
Adrian's gaze snapped back to him. "You don't get to make that choice."
Eli stood, his voice steady. "I already did the moment I stayed."
The silence that followed was almost unbearable — tension thrumming like a wire between them. Adrian rose slowly, closing the distance until only a breath separated them. The heat from the fire mingled with the cold still clinging to his clothes.
"You don't know what you're asking for," Adrian whispered.
Eli's heartbeat drummed in his ears. "Maybe I do."
For a moment, Adrian looked at him like he wanted to step back — to rebuild the wall he'd spent years hiding behind — but something in Eli's gaze stopped him. Something real. Something dangerous.
He reached up, his fingers brushing Eli's jaw in a gesture that was both tender and trembling. "You shouldn't be here," he murmured again, softer this time. "You should hate me."
"Maybe I should," Eli whispered back. "But I don't."
The world outside was nothing but rain and wind. Inside, the air was thick with heat and restraint. Adrian's thumb lingered against Eli's skin, a silent confession he couldn't speak aloud.
Then, as if realizing the weight of what he was doing, he stepped away, breaking the moment. "You should rest," he said, his voice clipped, his mask snapping back into place.
Eli didn't move. "And you?"
"I'll keep watch."
Eli hesitated, then nodded. He turned toward the small couch near the fireplace, curling up beneath a worn blanket. For a while, he lay still, pretending to sleep, listening to the soft rhythm of Adrian's movements — the creak of the floorboards, the occasional click of a gun being checked, the low whisper of fire.
But sometime after midnight, exhaustion won. He drifted into uneasy dreams.
When he woke, the fire had burned low, and Adrian was gone.
Panic surged through him as he sat up, scanning the dark cabin. The door was still locked, the windows untouched — but Adrian's coat was missing.
"Adrian?" His voice broke the silence.
No answer.
He stood, heart pounding, when the door suddenly opened. Adrian stepped inside, wet from the rain, eyes sharp. He froze when he saw Eli awake.
"You shouldn't be up," he said, shutting the door behind him.
"Where were you?"
"Checking the perimeter."
Eli frowned. "In the middle of the night? Alone?"
Adrian ignored the question, brushing past him toward the fireplace. Eli grabbed his arm. "Stop shutting me out."
Adrian turned, his expression unreadable. "If I tell you the truth, you won't sleep again."
"Then tell me anyway."
Adrian studied him for a long time, then finally said, "They're closer than I thought. We'll need to move by dawn."
Eli's stomach dropped. "We can't keep running forever."
"No," Adrian agreed. "But until I find a way to end this, we have to survive."
"And what happens after?" Eli asked quietly. "When it's over?"
Adrian didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Eli's forehead with an almost fragile tenderness. "Don't think about after. Just think about staying alive."
Eli's throat tightened. "That's not enough."
"It has to be."
Their eyes met — two storms colliding, one made of guilt, the other of stubborn hope. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world outside had stopped existing, leaving only this — the quiet ache of wanting something they weren't supposed to.
Then, softly, Eli said, "You're not alone in this, Adrian."
Adrian's hand fell away. "You shouldn't be."
But Eli didn't step back this time. He closed the space between them, his voice barely above a whisper. "And yet, here I am."
Adrian exhaled shakily, the control in his eyes unraveling. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Then let me live with you until then."
A faint smile ghosted across Adrian's lips — the first real one Eli had ever seen. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Maybe that's why I'm not afraid."
The air between them felt charged, fragile, inevitable. For a moment, Adrian's defenses crumbled completely — and in the flickering light of the dying fire, he leaned in just enough that Eli could feel his breath against his skin.
He didn't kiss him. Not yet. But he didn't pull away either.
It was a promise, and a warning, all at once.
---
Outside, dawn crept slowly through the trees, pale and uncertain.
Inside, two men stood in the quiet, bound not by blood or fate, but by a choice
— reckless, dangerous, and undeniably theirs.
The world would come for them soon.
But for now, for just this fragile heartbeat of morning, they were safe.