“You’re losing too much blood,” Elena says softly, her voice tinged with worry. Her hands tremble as she carefully stitches the wound on Alexander’s arm. She can feel the tension in her chest—the weight of everything they’ve been through. The adrenaline is wearing off, and now it’s just them, trying to make sense of the chaos that’s still swirling around them.
Alexander grits his teeth, forcing a smile. “I’ll survive,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, clearly fighting to stay conscious. He’s pale, sweat glistening on his forehead, but there’s determination in his eyes. “We need to keep moving. We can’t stay here too long.”
Elena shakes her head, her eyes softening with concern. “You’re not going anywhere right now. Just let me finish this. You need rest.”
She pulls the needle through his skin carefully, trying to be gentle, but the urgency in her movements betrays the panic she’s trying to hide. Every second spent here feels like a gamble. They’re not safe. Not really.
She finishes stitching up the last part of the wound and presses a clean bandage over it, making sure it stays in place. She can feel the weight of the silence between them, the knowledge that they can’t afford to relax, not even for a moment.
“We’ve got time,” Alexander says, his voice barely a whisper, like he’s trying to convince himself. He leans back, eyes closing for a second. “Rafael’s men won’t find us here.”
Elena doesn’t respond immediately. She looks around the small, dimly lit room, the walls covered in peeling paint, the furniture sparse. It’s a hidden safehouse they’d found through a contact—a place meant to be undetectable. But Elena can’t shake the feeling that it’s just a temporary reprieve. Rafael’s reach is far too wide. His men are relentless.
She takes a deep breath and sits beside him, watching as he drifts off into a restless sleep. He’s exhausted. So is she. But the exhaustion in her bones isn’t enough to make her let go of the worry gnawing at her gut.
She watches over him for a while, her thoughts racing, her eyes darting nervously to the door and the windows. It’s like she can feel the danger closing in around them, suffocating the air in the small room. But for now, they’re hidden. At least for the moment.
The night falls, and everything seems too quiet. Elena eventually falls asleep, her body demanding rest after everything that’s happened. But the night is never as peaceful as it seems. She’s jolted awake in the dead of night, a sharp instinct telling her something’s wrong.
Her heart races as she sits up, her eyes scanning the room, trying to make sense of the sudden unease coursing through her. The room is still dark, the faint light of the moon filtering through the cracked blinds. But something is missing.
The front door—she can see it in the corner of her eye—is wide open.
Elena’s breath hitches in her chest as panic rises in her throat. She stumbles out of bed, ignoring the dizziness from lack of sleep, and rushes to the door. Her hand flies out to grab the handle, but it’s already been opened. She steps outside, her heart hammering in her chest, hoping, praying that this is some kind of mistake.
But it isn’t.
The front yard is empty. Silent.
“Alexander?” she calls out, her voice shaking, but there’s no answer. No sound except the distant rustling of the trees in the wind. She quickly checks the rest of the house, her heart thumping in her ears. He’s not in the other rooms. Not anywhere.
She moves back to the door, her hands trembling as she slams it shut. What the hell is going on? How did he—?
“Alexander!” she calls again, louder this time, a frantic edge to her voice. Her pulse races as the truth begins to settle in. He’s gone.