The rain hadn't stopped. It hammered the city as if the clouds were trying to wash away every sin written into the brick and steel. But sins never washed. They only smeared, leaving stains that hardened with time.
Daniela sat on the edge of the cot in the safehouse, running a rag down her pistol with more care than she'd ever given her own body. The cut across her brow had crusted into a red-brown line, her ribs ached from the fight, and her shoulder screamed every time she moved it too far. Still, the gun gleamed. It was the only part of her she trusted not to fall apart.
"You clean that thing anymore and it'll file for a restraining order," Eleanor said.
Daniela glanced up. Eleanor leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, hair still damp from where she'd washed the blood off. She was wrapped in a borrowed coat two sizes too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands, and somehow, she looked both exhausted and incandescent.
"Habit," Daniela muttered.
"You mean avoidance," Eleanor corrected. Then she walked over, gently tugged the rag out of Daniela's hand, and sat beside her. "Your shoulder's shot. You should be resting."
Daniela tried for a smirk. "You offering to tuck me in?"
"Don't tempt me," Eleanor said dryly, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth. She reached out, brushed a strand of hair off Daniela's face, then stopped herself as if realizing what she'd done. The air between them thickened, humming with the electricity of everything unsaid.
Daniela cleared her throat, tried to remember she had lungs. "Kayleigh's cornered. Warehouse district. Ramirez wants me benched."
"Because he doesn't trust you." Eleanor's voice was flat, but not without sympathy.
"Because he's not wrong," Daniela said. She leaned back, the cot groaning under her. "I made a choice out there. I put you before the badge, before him, before all of it. He'll never forgive me for that."
Eleanor tilted her head. "Do you regret it?"
The question hung in the room, heavy as smoke. Daniela didn't answer. She didn't have to.
...
By nightfall, the rain turned the streets into mirrors. Flashing red and blue lights bled across the asphalt as unmarked cars rolled silently into position around the warehouse. Ramirez was there, jaw clenched, arm in a sling. His eyes cut to Daniela when she approached, Eleanor trailing stubbornly at her side.
"You're not cleared," Ramirez snapped.
Daniela squared her shoulders. "With respect, sir, I'm going in."
"You're compromised."
"She's our only shot," Eleanor interjected. Ramirez turned his glare on her, but Eleanor didn't flinch. "Kayleigh won't talk to you. She wants Daniela."
Ramirez's silence was as good as surrender. He exhaled through his nose, muttered something that sounded like madre de Dios, and looked away.
"Fine," he said. "But if you pull another stunt like last time, don't expect backup."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Daniela muttered.
Eleanor smirked. "Oh, she dreams."
Daniela shot her a look. Eleanor only smiled wider. The humor was a knife-thin line in the tension, a release valve before the storm.
...
The warehouse loomed like a carcass, windows smashed out, graffiti crawling up its sides. Inside, shadows moved against the glow of floodlights. Men with rifles, guarding their queen.
Daniela led the breach. Doors splintered under boots, the crack of gunfire split the night. Bullets screamed past as she dove for cover, her pistol barking in reply. Ramirez's men fanned out, trading fire with Kayleigh's crew. The smell of cordite, the sting of rain blowing in through shattered windows—it was chaos dressed in steel and thunder.
"Left flank!" Eleanor shouted. She wasn't supposed to be armed, but somehow she had a sidearm in her hands, firing with a surgeon's precision. Daniela wanted to yell at her, drag her to safety, but there was no time.
Kayleigh emerged from the catwalk above, silhouetted against the floodlight. Blond hair plastered to her skull, gun in one hand, cigarette smoldering in the other. Even here, in the middle of hell, she looked untouchable.
"Well, well," Kayleigh's voice carried through the din, mocking and honey-slick. "The prodigal detective. Tell me, Dani, did you come here to finish the job—or to finish her?" Her gaze flicked to Eleanor.
"Kayleigh, it's over," Daniela shouted back.
Kayleigh laughed, the sound sharp as glass. "It's never over. Not until you pick a side."
Gunfire sputtered around them, then lulled as if even the chaos wanted to hear what came next. Daniela stepped out from cover, weapon raised.
"You had a choice once," Kayleigh said, descending the metal stairs with deliberate slowness. "You could've had me. Had this city. But no—you threw it all away for a pretty little thing who'll never understand you."
"She understands more than you ever did," Daniela said.
For a flicker, Kayleigh's mask cracked. Then she sneered. "So that's it? You'll die for her?"
Eleanor's voice cut through. "She won't die tonight."
The fight reignited. Kayleigh fired, the shot grazing Daniela's arm. Daniela returned fire, her bullet smashing into the railing inches from Kayleigh's head. Sparks flew, metal screamed.
They closed the distance in a brutal dance. Daniela tackled Kayleigh, the two of them crashing onto the concrete floor. The gun skittered away. They traded blows—fists, elbows, rage made flesh. Kayleigh's laughter was a snarl, blood on her teeth.
"You're weak!" Kayleigh spat, pinning Daniela against the floor. "Love makes you weak."
Daniela, gasping, glanced past Kayleigh—saw Eleanor standing there, gun steady, eyes unflinching. Their eyes met, and in that instant, Daniela wasn't weak. She was whole.
She twisted, driving her knee into Kayleigh's ribs, flipping her over. Her hand found the fallen pistol. She pressed it to Kayleigh's temple.
The warehouse went silent.
Kayleigh smiled, even with the gun against her head. "Do it. Prove me right."
Daniela's finger hovered on the trigger. Rain hammered through the broken skylight above, soaking them both. She wanted to pull it. God, she wanted it. But then she thought of Eleanor, thought of what it would mean to cross that line.
Instead, she fired once—into the concrete beside Kayleigh's head. The crack echoed like a verdict.
"You don't get to define me," Daniela said, voice steady. "Not anymore."
Ramirez's men surged forward, cuffing Kayleigh as she spat curses.
...
Outside, the night air tasted cleaner, though the rain hadn't let up. Daniela leaned against the hood of a squad car, drenched and aching. Eleanor approached, her steps soft in the puddles.
"You didn't kill her," Eleanor said.
Daniela gave a tired smile. "Figured she wasn't worth the bullet."
Eleanor touched her arm, gentle. "You're worth more than you think, you know that?"
Daniela laughed, short and bitter, then softened when she saw the sincerity in Eleanor's eyes. "Careful, Ellie. Keep talking like that and I might start believing you."
"Good," Eleanor said, smiling faintly. "Because I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."
For the first time in weeks, Daniela let herself laugh—not the hollow kind, but real, low and rough. "You're trouble."
"Takes one to know one," Eleanor replied.
They stood there in the rain, bruised and bloodied, but not broken. For now, that was enough.
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To be continued.