The rain hadn't let up by the time they reached the safehouse. It came down in steady sheets, drumming against the hood of the car and streaming down the windshield in blurred rivulets. James killed the headlights but left the engine idling as he scanned the quiet street. No movement. No glow from the neighboring buildings except for the faint flicker of a television through a curtained window across the way.
Kristina sat still, her hands folded in her lap. Her heartbeat had finally slowed, but the tension in her shoulders hadn't eased. She could still feel the phantom weight of that man's gaze from the restaurant, the subtle edge in his voice when he'd spoken her name without permission.
James cut the engine, the sudden silence settling over them like a held breath. "Inside," he said, and was already out of the car before she could respond.
The building itself was unremarkable, a squat brick structure with a recessed doorway, the kind of place most eyes would skip over without thought. James opened the door with a key rather than the keypad she'd expected, and ushered her inside ahead of him.
The interior was dim but warm, lit by a single lamp on a side table. The smell of leather and faint smoke clung to the air, layered over the sharper tang of gun oil. A couch sat angled toward a low coffee table, the surface marked with scattered papers, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and a folded map.
Kristina moved to the couch but didn't sit. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table as she scanned the room. It wasn't the first time she'd been in one of James's safe spaces, but it still struck her how impersonal they were, functional, stripped of anything that wasn't necessary for survival.
James locked the door and drew the curtains before shrugging out of his coat. He hung it over the back of a chair, then crossed the room to pour two drinks. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as he handed one to her.
"Drink," he said.
She took it, more for the warmth of the glass than the contents. "You think Elias will send someone else tonight?"
James didn't answer immediately. He took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on some point beyond her shoulder. "If not tonight, soon. Elias doesn't like to wait."
Kristina wrapped her hands around the glass, feeling the whiskey's heat seep into her skin. "Then what's the plan?"
James's gaze snapped back to hers. "The plan is you stay where I put you, and you don't open that door for anyone but me."
Something in his tone made her bristle. "I'm not a piece of furniture, James."
He set his drink down with deliberate care. "No. You're something people will bleed to get their hands on. And I'm not letting them."
The words were a cage and a shield all at once, and she didn't know whether to resent or lean into them.
The rain's rhythm filled the silence between them, steady, unrelenting. Kristina took a small sip of the whiskey, the burn chasing a thread of warmth through her chest.
"You're not telling me everything," she said finally.
James's mouth curved, not into a smile, but something sharper. "I never do."
Before she could respond, a soft chime sounded from somewhere deeper in the apartment. James set his glass aside and moved toward the sound without hesitation, his posture shifting from guarded to predatory in the span of a breath.
Kristina followed him to a narrow hallway, stopping just short as he opened a small wall safe hidden behind a framed print. Inside, a phone screen glowed, the light casting pale shadows across his face. He glanced at the message once, then locked the safe again.
"Change of plans," he said, turning back toward her. "We're not staying here."
Her stomach tightened. "Why not?"
His eyes were unreadable in the low light. "Because the leash just got shorter."
James didn't wait for her agreement. He was already moving through the room, gathering what little they'd brought in with them. The whiskey glass was left untouched on the table, the faint swirl of liquid inside catching the lamplight before it settled. Kristina set hers down beside it, the echo of glass on wood sharp in the otherwise muted space.
"Where are we going?" she asked, keeping her voice low, though it felt unnecessary, there was no one here to hear them. Yet.
James pulled on his coat, his movements quick but without panic. "Somewhere even fewer people know about." He glanced at her as if to measure how much fight she might give him. Whatever he saw seemed to settle him. "And we're not taking the main roads."
The rain outside had softened to a mist, but the air felt heavier when they stepped back into it. The street glistened under the amber wash of a single flickering streetlamp, and somewhere far off, a siren wailed before fading into the distance. James guided her toward a narrow alley that ran behind the row of buildings, his hand firm at her back.
"Is this because of that message?" she pressed, stepping carefully over a slick patch of uneven pavement.
"It's because the clock just started ticking faster," he said. "Elias won't wait to make his next move."
They emerged onto a side street lined with shuttered shops and dark windows. A lone car sat at the curb, its paint glistening wet, the exhaust visible in the cool night air. James unlocked it with a quiet chirp, ushered her inside, and slid in after her.
As soon as the engine turned over, the radio crackled softly, not with music, but with a voice, low and urgent.
"They're already moving," the voice said. "Two cars, westbound. You've got maybe ten minutes."
Kristina's pulse spiked. She turned toward James, but his eyes stayed fixed on the windshield.
"Understood," he replied into the mic, then killed the signal.
The car pulled away from the curb, tires hissing against the wet asphalt. James took a turn that led them deeper into the quieter parts of the city, the buildings here older, the streets narrower. Kristina kept glancing into the side mirror, half-expecting headlights to appear.
"If they find us..." she began.
"They won't," he said sharply, then softer, "Not tonight."
But she could hear it in his tone, even James wasn't certain this time.
The streets outside grew darker and less familiar as James drove, each turn peeling them farther away from the parts of the city Kristina knew. The steady patter of rain softened to a whisper, but the tension inside the car only thickened. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his jaw flexing at whatever he saw, or didn't see.
Kristina sat angled toward him, watching the way the faint glow from the dashboard carved shadows into his face. She wanted to ask where they were going, why this new location would be safer than the last, but something in his focus kept her quiet.
They passed under a railway bridge, the overhead girders dripping long, cold strings of water. The air seemed heavier here, thick with the smell of rust and damp stone. James slowed as they approached an unlit side street and turned without signaling, the tires rolling quietly over uneven cobblestone.
"This place… no one knows about it?" she finally asked, her voice low.
His answer came without hesitation. "No one who's still breathing."
A shiver traced her spine, though she couldn't tell if it was from fear or the certainty in his tone. She gripped the door handle lightly, more for grounding than any thought of escape.
The building they stopped in front of looked abandoned, its boarded windows and weather-worn brick blending into the rest of the forgotten block. James cut the engine and scanned the street again before motioning for her to follow. The moment they stepped out, the night swallowed them, no streetlights, no hum of traffic, just the muffled drip of water and the faint echo of their footsteps.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly metallic, like a long-closed safe. James led her down a narrow hallway to a steel door, producing a key that looked older than the lock itself. The hinges groaned softly as it opened to reveal a surprisingly intact interior, a wide, low-ceilinged room with walls lined in shelves, a sturdy table at the center, and a scattering of mismatched chairs.
Kristina's gaze swept the space. "You've been here before."
"Once," he said, closing the door behind them with a heavy click. "Long enough to know no one else comes here unless I want them to."
The thought that James had safehouses scattered like hidden chess pieces unsettled her more than it reassured her. Still, she moved toward the table, tracing her fingers over the wood's deep grooves. They looked like they'd been carved by someone impatient, someone waiting.
"How long do we stay here?" she asked.
James crossed to one of the shelves and pulled down a small metal box. "Long enough to plan the next move."
He opened the box, revealing a neatly folded map, a few burner phones, and a stack of photographs. Kristina's breath caught as she caught sight of the faces, most she didn't recognize, but one she did. The man from the restaurant.
"He's not working alone," she murmured.
James's expression didn't change, but his silence told her she was right. He spread the photos on the table, anchoring the edges with whatever he had at hand, a lighter, a pen, a half-empty pack of cigarettes. His finger tapped twice on the man's image, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"They want leverage," he said. "And they think you're it."
The air between them felt charged, like a storm about to break. Kristina met his eyes, searching for something, assurance, maybe, or the truth he kept doling out in careful, measured pieces. But all she found was that same guarded intensity, the kind that told her whatever came next, it wouldn't be simple.
Somewhere deep in the building, a floorboard creaked.
James was already moving toward the sound before she could speak, his hand dropping to the holster beneath his coat. He glanced back just once, a silent order in his eyes.
Stay.
Kristina froze in place, her pulse quickening. The soft creak came again, more deliberate this time, closer. James moved like a shadow toward the narrow hallway, his steps soundless on the worn floorboards. He disappeared around the corner, and the low murmur of voices drifted back, one was his, calm but edged, the other unfamiliar, rougher.
She kept her eyes on the photographs spread across the table, but her ears strained toward the muffled exchange. The words were indistinct, but the tone told her enough: this wasn't a friend.
The conversation cut off abruptly. Silence stretched, thick and heavy, until James returned, the set of his jaw tight, his eyes giving away nothing. He closed the steel door with a slow, deliberate motion, the metallic click echoing in the room.
"We're not alone," he said quietly.
Kristina's stomach dropped. "Who?"
"Someone who thought this place was still forgotten." His gaze stayed locked on hers, as though gauging how much fear she could handle. "We leave before they regroup."
He swept the photographs back into the metal box, snapping it shut, and tucked it under his arm. "Stay close to me."
As they stepped into the hallway, the air felt sharper, the shadows deeper. Somewhere outside, the rain had started again, tapping lightly against the boarded windows. Kristina stayed on James's heels, the echo of their footsteps merging into a single, steady rhythm.
She didn't know where they were going, only that every move forward seemed to pull them deeper into a game she couldn't see the edges of. And James, silent, guarded James, was the only one keeping her from being swallowed by it entirely.