The city was quieter than it had any right to be at this hour, as if the rain from earlier had washed more than just grit from the streets. Kristina felt the stillness before she heard it, the kind of silence that prickled at the edges, waiting for something to break it. Beside her, James walked with his hands in his coat pockets, eyes scanning the shadows in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was relaxed or calculating.
They moved through the narrow side streets, away from the hum of neon signs and into older, forgotten blocks where brick walls leaned under the weight of years. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed once, then faded. The air smelled faintly of wet stone and the faint smoke from a street vendor's cart long since closed.
"You're quiet," James said without looking at her.
Kristina kept her gaze forward. "Just thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Not here."
He didn't push, but his pace slowed slightly, guiding her toward a building whose upper windows glowed dimly against the night. The entrance was recessed, the door heavy and painted the kind of green that had almost blackened with age. He reached into his pocket, but instead of unlocking it right away, he leaned closer.
"Whatever you're thinking," he murmured, "this is the place to decide if you want answers, or just the illusion of them."
Her heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but from the weight of choice in his voice. And as he pushed the door open, the dim light spilling across the threshold, she stepped inside, unsure whether she was crossing into safety or something far more dangerous.
The rain hadn't let up all afternoon. Outside, the city blurred into streaks of silver and black under the dim streetlamps, each droplet distorting the light like liquid glass. The noise of it was a constant hush against the windows, the kind that swallowed other sounds, leaving the room feeling too private, too focused.
James sat across from me, his elbows resting lightly on the table, one hand curled around his glass. He wasn't drinking, not really, just letting the condensation gather and run down over his fingers as if the motion gave him something to think about.
I could feel him watching me even when I wasn't looking.
The last few days had pulled something taut between us, an unspoken shift neither of us had tried to name. He'd been gone more than usual, and when he returned, there was a shadow to him I didn't remember seeing before. Tonight, it clung to his expression like the rain on the glass, hard to wipe away, impossible to ignore.
"You're quiet," he said at last. His voice was low, not accusing, just… searching.
I forced a small smile, more out of habit than ease. "So are you."
He studied me for a beat, then leaned back, his gaze flicking briefly to the window before returning to me. "Work's been… complicated."
That was all he offered. No details, no explanation, just a closed door I wasn't sure I wanted to push against.
Still, the air between us felt heavy with the things we weren't saying.
"I noticed," I said softly. My fork scraped lightly against the plate as I pushed food around without eating it. "You don't come back the same."
His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in that way he had when measuring what someone truly meant. "And what am I now?"
I hesitated. "Like someone keeping too many secrets at once."
For a moment, I thought he might smile, deflect, pull me back into the game of small teases and guarded exchanges we'd perfected. Instead, he set his glass down and reached across the table, fingers brushing my wrist.
"You trust me, don't you?"
The question was soft, but it landed like weight in my chest.
"I do," I said, though I could hear the thinness in my own voice.
He noticed. He always did. His thumb traced a slow line against my skin, and there was an intensity in his gaze that pinned me in place. "Then hold onto that. Even if the rest looks… different."
A shiver went through me, not from fear, but from the way his words felt like both a promise and a warning.
Somewhere beyond the walls, a siren wailed faintly, rising and falling until the sound dissolved into the rain. James let go of my wrist, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, as if the conversation wasn't over, only paused.
And for the first time in weeks, I wondered if whatever was keeping him out so late wasn't just business.
The quiet stretched between us, threaded with the sound of the rain and the muted tick of an unseen clock. I found myself studying the lines of his face, tracing them like a map I should have memorized by now. There was something sharper in them tonight, an edge smoothed only by the careful way he was watching me.
He finally rose from his seat, moving with unhurried precision toward the sideboard. A small, dark bottle appeared in his hand, the label worn smooth by time. Without asking, he poured two glasses and slid one across to me.
"Strong enough to take the chill off," he said.
I hesitated before taking it. The scent was rich and smoky, curling up to meet me before the glass even reached my lips. It burned, but not unpleasantly, and I couldn't tell if the warmth spreading through me was from the drink or from the way his gaze never left mine.
He sat back down, closer this time, his knee brushing mine beneath the table. It was a small contact, deliberate enough to feel intentional, yet casual enough to deny if either of us wanted to pretend otherwise.
"Kristina," he said, my name quieter than the rain. "There are things coming. I can keep you safe, but only if you let me."
The words should have comforted me, but instead they landed like a locked door behind me. I searched his face for more, but found only that same measured restraint, the kind that told me he was already holding back far more than he was sharing.
The rain had eased into a fine mist by the time we stepped outside, but the street still gleamed with the sheen of wet pavement. Yellowed light from the few surviving streetlamps caught in the puddles, stretching and breaking into fractured shapes under the soles of passing shoes. Somewhere down the block, a delivery truck rumbled through the slick asphalt, its headlights briefly casting our shadows long across the alley wall.
James stayed close beside me, not quite touching, but near enough that I could feel the ghost of his presence in the chilled air between us. His gaze swept the street the way it always did now, every doorway, every parked car, each window above us that might be cracked open just enough for someone to watch unseen.
He wasn't saying much. He didn't need to. His silence had a weight of its own, one I was starting to learn how to read.
We moved past a corner café with its chairs stacked on the tables, a single tired employee mopping under the buzzing fluorescent lights. The scent of stale coffee and bleach escaped through the door as we passed. It mingled strangely with the city's damp night air, the kind of mixture that reminded me of nights I never wanted to go back to, lonely, restless, watching strangers live lives I wasn't part of.
"Do you ever miss it?" I asked suddenly, though I wasn't even sure what it meant, before this life? Before him? Before the things I was only beginning to understand about him?
James glanced at me sidelong, rain clinging to his lashes. "Miss what?"
"Normal."
He didn't answer right away. We'd reached another block, this one quieter still, the glow of the city center fading behind us until the dark seemed to press closer. He slowed his pace, pulling his hands from his coat pockets. "Normal's a word people use when they don't know what's coming," he said finally. "I've never had much use for it."
Something about the way he said it made the hairs along my arms lift. I told myself it was the cold, but I knew better.
We turned into the narrow alley beside a shuttered bookstore, the kind of place you only found if you knew it was there. The walls on either side rose high, brick worn smooth where time and weather had been allowed to have their way. Halfway through, he stopped, placing a hand lightly at my back.
I barely had time to register the movement before I saw it, a figure at the far end of the alley, too still, too focused on us.
My pulse spiked. The street beyond them was empty, but something about the way they stood, the shadow swallowing most of their face, made the air feel tighter in my chest.
"Keep walking," James said quietly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
I didn't argue. My steps quickened, my gaze flicking between the stranger ahead and the faint glint of water dripping from a fire escape above. I could hear my own heartbeat now, each thud a little too loud in my ears.
The figure moved, a slow, deliberate step forward. And that was all it took for James to shift. He stepped past me, placing himself between us, his posture changing in that subtle way I'd come to recognize as dangerous.
"I've got her," he said, and it wasn't meant for me.
For a moment, the night was nothing but the quiet hum of the city, the slick hiss of rain in the gutters. Then, just as suddenly, the figure at the alley's end stepped back into the dark, melting away as if they'd never been there.
James didn't move right away. He watched the empty space for several more seconds, his jaw tight, before finally glancing back at me.
"Let's go," he murmured, and this time, I didn't hesitate when he reached for my hand.
We didn't speak again until we were blocks away, the tension in my shoulders still coiled tight. I didn't ask who they were or why they'd been there. But I knew, without him saying, that this was one of the reasons he kept so many secrets.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure I wanted all the answers.