Love was not what frightened them.
It was trust.That was the truth neither of them said out loud.
The enemies outside the estate grew bolder false alarms, hacked cameras, shadows where none should be. Security tightened, sleep thinned, nerves frayed. Under pressure, walls didn't just crack.
They revealed what had been cemented inside them all along.The night it surfaced, the power went out again. This time, it stayed out.
Emergency lights flickered on, bathing the corridors in low amber. Naya moved instantly, weapon drawn, every sense alert. Kairo followed her, silent and barefoot, muscles coiled.They swept the house together, backs brushing, breathing synced.
No breach.No intruder.
Just darkness and the echo of old fear.
When it was clear, they ended up in the kitchen habit drawing them there. The storm outside rattled the windows. Rain lashed the glass like accusations.
Naya set her weapon down slowly.
"You don't like the dark," Kairo said.
She stiffened. "Everyone dislikes it."
"You hate it," he corrected. "Your pulse doubles."
She didn't deny it this time.
He leaned against the counter, exhaustion stripping away bravado. "We should talk."
"No," she said immediately.
"Yes."She looked at him then—really looked—and something in his face stopped her from walking away.He wasn't asking as her employer.He was asking as someone just as afraid.
"I trusted someone once," Kairo said quietly. "My first manager."
Naya stayed still, listening.
"He found me when I was eighteen. Promised to take me out of the streets. Said I was family." His jaw tightened. "He stole everything. My first title purse. My contracts. Left me broke and bleeding in a backroom after a rigged fight."
Her fingers curled unconsciously.
"I learned early," Kairo continued, "that the people who say they've got your back are usually the first to step away when you fall."
Naya exhaled slowly.
"My team leader," she said. "The one I trusted most. He altered the mission intel."
Kairo's eyes sharpened.
"He knew there were civilians," she went on, voice steady but thin. "He needed plausible deniability. When it went wrong, he blamed me. Filed reports that made me look reckless."
"That's why you left," he said.
"That's why I don't trust," she corrected.
Silence settled between them—not awkward, not heavy.Shared.
"That's why you don't let anyone close," Kairo said softly.
"And that's why you pretend desire is just instinct," she replied. "Not risk."
They stood there, stripped bare by truth.
"I don't know how to love without losing myself," Kairo admitted.
"I don't know how to love without someone bleeding," Naya said.
Their eyes locked.
The distance between them was unbearable now not because of want, but because of fear.
He reached out slowly, giving her time to stop him.She didn't.
His hand brushed her wrist nothing more than a question.Her fingers curled around his.
An answer.They didn't kiss.They didn't cross the line.
But something shifted something deeper than lust.Understanding.And understanding was far more dangerous.Because once you see someone's wounds.You either walk away Or you choose to stay and risk being hurt again.Outside, thunder rolled closer.
Inside, two guarded hearts stood on the edge of something irreversibleKnowing exactly why they were afraid.
And choosing, for the first time,
Not to run.