The silence after the gunmen fled didn't feel like relief.It felt like the city was holding its breath with us, waiting for the next blow.
Jacob still held me against him, his hand resting at the back of my head. His breathing was too shallow, too forced, like each inhale scraped against pain. When his forehead touched mine again, I could feel the tremor running through him.
"You're bleeding again," I whispered.
"I'll manage."
He always said that.Like surviving was just another chore.
But I pushed back from his chest gently, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were heavy, darker than before, shadows pooling beneath them.
"Jacob… you can't keep pretending you're fine."
"And you can't keep worrying about me." His voice was thin, tired. "We need to move. They'll double back."
He didn't even give himself a second to rest.He never did.
I grabbed his wrist. "You can barely stand."
"I've stood through worse."
"Stop saying that," I snapped. "Stop acting like pain doesn't apply to you."
His eyes met mine slowly, and for a moment… the mask slipped.
"I'm scared," he admitted softly.Not of dying.Not of Damian.Not of the men hunting us.
But something else.
Something regarding me.
Before I could ask what he meant, the lights flickered violently, buzzing like angry insects. A section of the ceiling rattled, dust falling in thin clouds. The building felt like it was groaning under the storm's weight.
Jacob pushed himself up using the wall, breath catching. I moved to help, but he shook his head sharply.
"Don't. If you touch me right now I might—"
He stopped.
"Might what?" I whispered.
He stared at me like he was trying to swallow something impossible.
"Might forget we're in danger," he said quietly.
Heat bloomed in my chest, chasing away the cold fear for one reckless second.
But then reality slammed back into place as a distant clang echoed from somewhere deeper inside the safe house.
Jacob stiffened instantly.
"Someone else is inside," he murmured.
My stomach dropped.
"How? The only entrance is the—"
"They have more than one way in."
His hand grazed my back, ushering me behind him even though he could barely stand straight. I grabbed his arm before he could fully shield me.
"Jacob, stop. You're hurt."
"And you're not getting shot," he said.
The way he said it — fierce, final — left no room for argument.But fear built in my throat anyway.
"What if you collapse?" I whispered.
He gave a small, humorless laugh. "Then you run."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Lily—"
"Jacob." My voice cracked with something raw. "You kissed my forehead. You… you held me like you were scared to lose me. So don't act like you want me to run now."
His breath trembled.
He looked at me like he was fighting his own heart — losing badly.
"I know," he said softly. "But if something happens to you—"
"It won't," I said. "Because we're staying together. Whatever happens."
He swallowed hard.
Then he nodded.
Not because he agreed.Because he couldn't fight me anymore.
He took my hand.
Not gently this time.Not carefully.
He grabbed it like he needed it to stay upright — or sane.
We moved through the dark hallway, shadows stretching like claws along the walls. Water dripped from the ceiling in a steady rhythm, masking faint footsteps ahead.
Jacob leaned in, murmuring, "Stay low. Stay quiet."
"I am," I whispered back. "You're the one who keeps talking."
He shot me a look — the faintest spark of amusement flickering through the pain. "You started it."
"Then stop answering me."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because it's you."
My chest tightened painfully.
But there wasn't time to unpack that — not when a deeper voice echoed from somewhere ahead.
"…check the lower level. They must still be here."
My blood ran cold.
Jacob's grip on my hand tightened until it almost hurt. He pulled me into a storage room with rusted shelves and boxes decaying from age.
The door barely closed when another set of footsteps approached — slow, cautious, purposeful.
Jacob pressed me back against the wall, shielding me with his body. His breath ghosted my cheek.
"Don't move," he whispered.
Then he froze.
So did I.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure they would hear it.
The doorknob rattled once.
Twice.
Jacob lifted his gun.
But his hand shook.
He was losing too much blood.
I reached up instinctively, steadying his wrist with my fingers — wrapping both my hands around it.
His eyes darted to mine.
A silent question.
A silent answer.
We do this together.
The knob rattled again.
Then slowly, painfully slowly, it began to turn—
Jacob lowered his body, pulling me behind a fallen shelf.
The door creaked open.
A man stepped inside — boots heavy, face shadowed.
He scanned the room.
Jacob's grip tightened on the gun.
I held my breath.
The man walked further in, muttering, "They couldn't have gone far—"
Jacob tensed.
He was about to shoot.
But something in me reacted before he could.
Instinct.
Fear.
Desperation.
I grabbed his arm again. Not to stop him — but to anchor him, steady him, keep him from collapsing when the recoil hit his wounded shoulder.
He gave a single nod.
The man turned toward our hiding spot—
Jacob fired.
The shot was muffled — more a sharp pop than a thunderous crack — and the man dropped instantly, collapsing against a pile of boxes with a choked groan.
My whole body shook.
Jacob's hand shook too.
Not from fear.
From pain.
He slumped forward, catching himself on his elbow as a groan escaped him.
"Jacob—!"
"I'm fine," he gasped, but his voice betrayed him. "Just… dizzy."
I grabbed his face, forcing his eyes open.
"Don't pass out," I whispered. "Stay with me."
He blinked hard. "Trying."
"You're losing too much blood."
"Just needs a minute," he whispered, but his eyelids fluttered.
My heart squeezed painfully.
"Jacob, look at me."
He did.
Barely.
His pupils unfocused. His breath trembled. His jaw clenched like he was fighting a battle I couldn't see.
"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
He leaned forward suddenly, forehead pressing into my shoulder — not gentle, not careful. He breathed against my neck like he needed air from me.
"Lily…" His voice cracked. "I don't want to die."
The floor dropped beneath me.
He never said things like that.
He never let fear slip through.
And the fact that he was saying it now — to me, only to me — felt like something breaking inside him.
"You won't," I said fiercely. "You won't. I won't let you."
He gave a faint, broken laugh. "You can't stop bullets."
"Then I'll shield you with my body."
He stiffened. "Don't ever say that."
"Then don't ever say you're dying."
He exhaled shakily, pressing closer, like he needed to feel me to believe anything I said.
But then—
Voices echoed again from the hall.
Jacob instantly forced himself upright, face tightening, eyes growing sharp even though his body wanted to give out.
"More are coming," he breathed.
"Jacob, you can't fight like this—"
"I'll have to."
"No," I said, grabbing his face again, forcing him to look at me. "We run. Together."
He stared at me long, deeply — like he was memorizing my face, my fear, my determination.
"Okay," he whispered. "Together."
He pulled me close with his good arm, guiding us toward a narrow back exit I didn't even know existed.
The rain outside was louder now — a roar, a warning, a promise.
As we burst into the alley, Jacob stumbled, knees nearly buckling. I caught him with both arms.
"Lean on me," I said, breathless.
"I already am."
He gave a faint smile.
Then it faded as headlights flared at the end of the alley.
A car door slammed.
A familiar voice echoed through the rain.
"Jacob."
The blood in my veins froze.
Jacob's hand closed around mine, tightening.
His jaw clenched.
His eyes darkened.
"Damian."
Jacob's past had finally caught up.
And there was nowhere left to run.
The world didn't end with an explosion…It ended with silence.
A silence so sharp it carved straight through my spine.
Jacob's hand was still wrapped around mine, warm despite everything he'd lost. His breathing was slower now, heavy—like each inhale demanded a piece of him he didn't have to spare. The abandoned stairwell around us felt like the inside of a dying machine: metal groaning, wires humming faintly, echoes of footsteps long gone.
But he wasn't looking at the wounds anymore.
He was listening.
Eyes narrowed. Jaw tight.
Like something invisible had gripped him by the throat.
"Jacob?" I whispered.
He didn't blink. "Someone else is here."
That sentence alone made my blood freeze.
"Not them?" I asked.
"No."His voice dropped into something low, dangerous."Someone worse."
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
Worse?
Who the hell was worse than the men trying to kill us?
Jacob's fingers squeezed mine once—tight, almost involuntary—before he pushed himself up, fighting his own body like it was the enemy.
"Stay behind me," he said.
"You can barely stand."
"Doesn't matter."
His hand hovered near the improvised weapon he'd picked up—a metal pipe with a cracked handle. It wasn't much, but Jacob held it like every fight he'd ever lived through was carved into the way he moved.
I rose with him, keeping my hand hovering near his back just in case he fell.
The hallway stretched out before us—long, dark, dripping with water from the broken ceiling. The only light came from a flickering bulb that washed everything in pale, sickly yellow.
And from the darkness at the far end…
Came footsteps.
Slow.Measured.Purposeful.
Not hunting.
Approaching.
Jacob stiffened beside me. His breath hitched—not like fear, but recognition.
"Lily," he whispered, "listen to me very carefully."
I swallowed. "What is it?"
He didn't answer.
Because the figure stepped into the light.
A tall man in a black tailored coat, hands gloved, expression carved from ice. His presence filled the entire hallway like a shadow stretching over the world.
Even without Jacob saying a word…
I knew him.
The face from the articles.The man from the boardrooms.The one whose voice commanded entire industries.The one whose hands were still stained with the memory of the murder we witnessed.
Damian Cross.
My breath shattered.
Jacob moved instantly—pushing me behind him even though his body shook with the effort.
Damian smiled softly, like we'd accidentally bumped into each other at a corporate charity gala.
"Well," he murmured. "This saves me quite a bit of trouble."
Jacob didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
Damian's eyes slid over Jacob first, assessing him like he was an asset that had depreciated.
"Jacob Reed," he said. "Still alive. That's… disappointing."
My stomach twisted.
Jacob didn't respond—not with anger, not with fear—just a quiet, deadly calm that scared me more than both.
Damian then looked at me.
And smiled.
It wasn't warm.It wasn't friendly.It wasn't even human.
"Lily Hart," he said. "You've caused me a surprising amount of inconvenience."
I felt Jacob step back, pressing me against the wall behind him like a shield.
"Touch her," Jacob said quietly, "and I'll kill you."
The way Damian laughed made my skin crawl."As if you could."
Jacob's grip tightened on the pipe. Blood seeped through his bandages again.
He wasn't strong enough for a fight.Not like this.Not against him.
"Jacob," I whispered, "don't—"
"I said stay behind me."
He didn't raise his voice.But the command was iron.
Damian stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back like a teacher approaching misbehaving children.
"You should've died when you walked away," he said to Jacob. "I gave you everything—protection, purpose, a name worth something. And you threw it away."
"I didn't throw it away," Jacob replied. Each word was steady, sharp. "I escaped."
Damian's smile thinned. "And you think she's worth this?"
Jacob didn't hesitate.Not even for a heartbeat.
"Yes."
Something inside me broke open.
Damian noticed.Of course he did.
"Ah," he murmured. "So that's it."
He stepped closer.
Jacob raised the pipe—
"Don't," Damian said gently, as if talking to a disobedient dog. "Put that down."
Jacob didn't move.
Damian's eyes hardened."I'm not here to negotiate."
The lights flickered violently.
A rush of cold air swept through the hall.
And Damian reached into his coat.
Jacob swung.
Damian moved faster.
The pipe hit the ground with a metallic echo.Jacob's breath punched out of him as Damian's knee slammed into his injured side.
"Jacob!" I screamed—
He collapsed, gasping, arm barely catching himself before he hit the ground.
I lunged forward—
Damian grabbed my wrist.
Not tight.Not hurting me.But firm.Like he was proving a point.
"You should've kept your head down," he said softly. "You could've lived a long, ordinary life, Miss Hart."
Jacob struggled to rise, blood running down his arm.
"Let her go," he rasped. "Damian—let her go."
Damian tilted his head, studying him.
"You think you're protecting her," he murmured. "But all you've done is make her a target."
His hand began to tighten around my wrist—
Jacob surged up with a sound that wasn't human—more pain than strength—and tackled Damian off balance.
They crashed into the wall.
I stumbled back, heart in my throat as Jacob threw a punch fueled by desperation more than power. Damian blocked it easily, twisting Jacob's injured shoulder until he choked on a cry.
"STOP!" I screamed.
Neither of them did.
Damian shoved Jacob down again—hard—sending him collapsing to one knee.
Then Damian reached into his coat again.
This time—
He pulled out a gun.
"No—no. Stop—please—" My voice cracked so loudly it hurt.
Damian aimed at Jacob's head.
Jacob stared down the barrel without flinching.
"Move," Damian told me. "Unless you'd like to join him."
My body shook uncontrollably.
Jacob met my eyes.
And shook his head.
Don't come closer.
Don't trade yourself.
Don't let him win.
Damian's finger curled around the trigger.
"No!" I screamed, lunging forward—
Darkness exploded around us as the hallway lights blew out.
A deafening bang echoed—