The hospital room was quiet, save for the faint beeping of the monitor and the ticking of the clock on the pale wall. Alina sat on the edge of the examination table, legs dangling, her eyes flicking between the cold tile floor and Cassian, who stood near the window, arms crossed, jaw locked.
He hadn't said much since the doctor left the room.
She hated the silence more than anything.
"Well?" she asked finally, half-daring, half-dreading the answer. "Are you going to say something?"
Cassian turned slowly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she saw it—the flicker in his dark eyes. Not cold. Not calculating.
Soft. Shaken.
"You're pregnant," he said.
"I gathered that." She rolled her eyes, but her voice trembled.
He stepped closer, then paused. "With twins."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Twins?"
Cassian nodded slowly, almost disbelieving. He reached for her, then pulled his hand back before it reached her cheek. "I didn't think I could still feel something… not after everything."
Alina bit her lip, blinking fast. "I didn't think I could be anything to you but a ghost."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, breathing her in like he'd been holding his breath for years. "You're not a ghost. You're fire… and now you're carrying two more flames."
A watery laugh escaped her. "So poetic for a devil."
"Don't get used to it."
---
Hours later, Alina stepped out of the changing room, wearing a soft cream maternity dress that hugged her in all the right places. Cassian, waiting near the boutique's window, looked up and went utterly still.
"Well?" she teased, spinning for him.
He took a slow step forward. "You're dangerous."
"To your credit card?" she grinned.
"No. To my fucking heart."
She laughed, walking into his open arms as he kissed her temple, her jaw, then her lips. For the first time in weeks, the tension between them was gone. There was no blood, no threats, no walls — only him, her, and the miracle between them.
They shopped until her feet ached, picked out tiny clothes, soft blankets, and even argued over baby names—Alina leaning toward poetic and Cassian muttering darkly about naming one after a Roman general.
Outside, the sun was setting in crimson gold over the skyline as they walked back toward the black SUV parked across the road. Cassian's hand was firmly around her waist, his other carrying the bags, his eyes always alert.
"I could get used to this," she murmured, leaning against his side.
"You will."
They were two steps from the door when the first bullet rang out.
Cassian shoved Alina behind him with the reflex of a killer. His gun was drawn in seconds, but it was too late—two sharp cracks echoed through the alley, and blood bloomed across his shirt like red flowers.
"Cassian!" Alina screamed, clutching his back as he staggered, gritting his teeth.
"Get down," he snarled, dragging her behind the SUV, shielding her with his body as bullets whizzed past them like hornets.
His breath was ragged. Blood soaked through his shirt, his grip on the gun trembling slightly, but his eyes were wild with fury.
Another shot. Glass shattered nearby.
Cassian roared something in a language she didn't understand—and then everything happened at once.
A black van screeched to a halt. Masked men jumped out. Alina tried to run, but Cassian pushed her back, took another bullet to the arm, and dropped to one knee.
"Run, Alina—run!" he shouted.
But she didn't. She couldn't.
They grabbed her from behind. She screamed, fought, bit, kicked.
Cassian tried to rise — bleeding, broken — but one of the men slammed the butt of a gun into his skull. He collapsed to the ground with a grunt, blood pouring from his wounds.
"Cassian!"
She reached out for him, but they pulled her away.
He lifted his head just once — eyes locking with hers, dark with rage and helplessness.
And then the door slammed.
The last thing she saw was his blood on the pavement — and the world going black as they drove her away.