The rain hadn't stopped, only thinned into a fine mist that clung to skin and clothes, softening the edges of the city. The safehouse James had chosen was quieter than the street outside, but not empty of sound, the occasional groan of old wood, the low hum of a refrigerator somewhere out of sight. He didn't switch on any lights, letting the pale spill from the streetlamps filter through thin curtains.
"Upstairs," he said, voice low.
The stairs creaked under our steps, the air warmer as we climbed. At the top, James pushed open a door to a room that was bare but for a bed, a chair, and a small dresser. He stepped inside first, checked the corners like someone expecting shadows to have teeth, then nodded for me to follow.
"You'll stay here tonight."
It wasn't a question, but I sat on the edge of the bed anyway, testing the springs. James stayed by the door, watching, one hand resting against the frame like he could close it between us at any moment.
"You trust this place?" I asked.
"I trust that no one followed us here."
Which wasn't the same thing, but it was all I was getting. He stepped inside fully, the door clicking shut behind him. The air seemed smaller with him in it, his presence shifting the weight of the room.
He shrugged out of his coat, the envelope still in his hand, and crossed to the chair. Setting it down carefully on the seat, he looked back at me. "Don't touch it."
I raised a brow. "Afraid I'll read it?"
"Afraid you'll make yourself a bigger target than you already are."
The words settled between us, heavier than they should have been. He didn't move toward the bed, but he didn't move away either, just stood there, close enough that I could see the faint glint of rainwater still caught in his hair.
The room was dark enough that the sound of my own breath felt louder than the rain outside. James had set the envelope on the table between us, but he wasn't looking at it anymore, he was watching me. Not in that casual way he sometimes did, but with the kind of focus that felt like he was taking inventory of every twitch, every glance.
"You've been quiet," he said.
"I've been thinking." My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. "About what's in there."
His gaze didn't soften. "Thinking and knowing are two different things."
"Maybe I want both."
He leaned back slightly, his hand drumming once against the edge of the table before falling still. "You think you do. But I'm telling you, you won't come back from it."
"From what?" I asked, sharper than I meant to.
James didn't answer right away. The pause stretched, not uncomfortable, but weighted. "The moment you start seeing people for what they're capable of, not what you wish they were."
I held his stare, even when the corner of his mouth tightened as if he regretted saying it out loud.
The sound of footsteps above cut through whatever else he might have added. His head tilted, listening, every muscle in his body shifting just enough for me to notice.
"You stay here," he said, already moving toward the door.
"James..."
He stopped long enough to look over his shoulder. "If you hear my voice telling you to leave, you don't think. You go."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the envelope and the faint hum of the overhead light. The seconds felt longer now, the kind that stretch in the space between what you want to happen and what you're afraid will.
The footsteps above shifted, slow at first, then quicker, deliberate. I couldn't tell if they were moving away from James or toward him. The silence that followed was worse than the sound itself, stretching thin until I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.
I glanced at the envelope. It sat where he'd left it, still and ordinary in the dim light, yet somehow it seemed to pull at me, like whatever was inside was aware I was alone with it.
A muffled thud came from upstairs. Not heavy enough to be furniture, not sharp enough to be a gunshot. My fingers curled against my knees. Every instinct said to stay put, but I stood anyway, crossing the room on quiet steps.
I stopped at the door, hand hovering over the knob. Another sound, closer this time, like a heel pivoting against old wood. Then James' voice, low and even, too even.
"Back in the room."
I opened the door. He was standing halfway down the hall, his coat back on, one hand hidden in the fold near his side. His eyes found mine and stayed there, steady, not angry, protective in a way that made my chest tighten.
"Now," he said.
I stepped back inside. He followed, closing the door with deliberate care. The lock turned with a soft click.
"Someone was watching the street," he said. "Didn't get close enough to try the door."
I glanced toward the envelope. "For that?"
"For you."
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer before he moved to the chair and lifted the envelope again. This time, he didn't set it back down.
"We leave before first light," he said.
And just like that, whatever peace the room might have offered was gone, replaced by the quiet hum of a night that wasn't over yet.
James didn't move for a long moment after he said it, the envelope still in his hand. I could hear the rain ticking faintly against the window, soft but steady, as if the city itself had decided not to sleep.
He finally crossed to the bed and crouched, his eyes level with mine. Up close, I could see the faint smudge of fatigue beneath them, the way his gaze sharpened whenever he thought I wasn't looking.
"If anything happens before dawn," he said quietly, "don't wait for me. You take the back stairwell, three flights down, and you run until you're somewhere crowded. You understand?"
The thought of leaving without him caught in my chest like a hook. "And if you're not..."
"I'll find you," he said, the words too quick, too certain, as if saying them fast enough could make them true.
I didn't believe him entirely. Not because I thought he'd lie, but because I'd seen what this city did to promises.
He stood again, glancing at the window once more before locking the latch. "Try to get some sleep," he added, though we both knew it was an impossible ask.
When the light finally went out, the dark pressed close, and I lay still, listening for his footsteps in the hall, the rustle of his coat, the click of the lock at the stairwell door.
I didn't hear any of it.
Which meant either he was as quiet as he wanted to be… or he hadn't left the doorway at all.