By the time they found shelter, night had swallowed the forest.
Emma spotted it first—an old wooden cabin half-hidden behind fallen branches and thick vines. No lights, no movement, no signs of recent life.
"Looks abandoned," she said, tightening her grip on her knife.
"Do we have a choice?" Darrick asked.
"Not unless you want to sleep outside with those guys' backup."
He shook his head quickly.
Emma pushed the door open with her boot. It creaked loudly—too loudly in the silence of the woods. She scanned inside: dusty furniture, a broken table, an old fireplace filled with soot.
"Clear," she said, stepping in.
Darrick followed, closing the door behind them. The wind howled outside, rattling the loose boards.
Emma tried the light switch.
Nothing.
Of course.
She dropped her bag on the floor. "I'll check for firewood."
Darrick glanced at her soaked clothes. "…You'll freeze before morning."
"I've been worse," she said with a shrug, though she was visibly shivering.
He disappeared into another room. Moments later, he returned with a worn blanket he shook the dust off.
"Here," he said, placing it around her shoulders.
She blinked, surprised. "You trying to make me soft?"
"No," he said simply. "Trying to keep you alive."
Her face warmed more than the blanket did.
He cleared his throat and stepped aside. "Let me start the fire."
Emma raised a brow. "You know how?"
"I may be rich, Emma, but I'm not helpless."
He knelt by the fireplace and began working. After a few tries, a small flame flickered, growing into crackling warmth that filled the cold room.
Emma sank to the floor near it, letting the heat soak into her bones.
Darrick sat beside her, but left just enough space to be respectful… barely.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Just the fire.
Just the rain.
Just the two of them breathing the same warm air.
Finally Emma broke the silence.
"You handled yourself back there," she said. "Not great, but… not terrible."
"That almost sounded like a compliment."
"Don't get used to it."
He chuckled, then turned serious.
"They weren't random attackers… were they?"
Emma looked into the fire. "No. Someone wants you dead badly enough to send professionals."
He swallowed hard. "Because of the contract?"
"Maybe. Or something you're not telling me."
He hesitated.
Emma's eyes sharpened. "Darrick."
"…There's more," he admitted quietly. "People in my company. Partners. They've tried to get rid of me for years. If I sign this contract, it gives me control they don't want me to have."
"So they tried to cut you off permanently," she said.
He nodded.
Emma leaned back against the wall.
"Well, too bad for them. I'm not letting you die."
He turned, watching her. "Why?"
She froze.
The question hung in the air heavier than the storm.
She searched for the right answer—the safe one.
"…Because it's my job," she said flatly.
He didn't look convinced.
"Is that the only reason?"
Her heart thudded. She suddenly felt the heat from the fire too intensely.
She stood quickly. "I'm checking the windows."
"Emma—"
"Don't overthink it, Hellsing," she snapped, not meeting his eyes. "I'm here to protect you. That's it."
She walked away before he could see the conflict in her face.
Before she could admit—to him or to herself—that something was changing.
Too fast.
Too dangerously.
But as she secured the windows, Darrick watched her with a quiet expression, something gentle but pained.
"She's lying," he whispered to himself.
And in the darkness of the cabin, with danger closing in on all sides…
…their hearts continued drifting toward each other, whether they wanted it or not.