Ace didn't move. But something shifted in the room, like the atmosphere tensed with him.
"Who?" he asked.
Sarah hesitated. "I didn't see their face. But I felt it. Watched. From the bus stop. Through the windows at the café. I thought I lost them. But when I got here…" She paused. "There was a second shadow at the gate. Just for a second."
Ace stood and walked to the window, peering out into the rain-laced dark. Nothing but trees and gravel and the wet glimmer of night.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said, not turning.
Sarah stared at the back of his neck. She remembered kissing it once, years ago, when his heart still beat like something that could break.
"You're the only place I have left," she said.
He turned slowly, and there was something haunted in his eyes now—not fear, but recognition. "If they followed you here, it's already too late."
"What do you mean?"
He walked over to the tall cabinet by the wall—one she had always assumed held books. He opened it.
Not books.
Guns. Knives. Files. Maps.
The kind of tools people only keep when they've done things that can't be undone.
"What did you get yourself into, Sarah?"
She rose from the couch. "I could ask you the same."
Ace pulled out a slim, black pistol and set it on the coffee table between them. "You're going to tell me everything. Tonight."
"I don't want to drag you into this."
He laughed, bitter and low. "You already did."
The rain intensified, beating on the windows like fists.
Then—three sharp knocks.
Sarah's mug slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.