We ran until the sky stopped bleeding.
Killian didn't say where we were going. I didn't ask. I followed.
Through alleyways. Fire escapes. Tunnels I didn't know existed under the glittering skin of Aurelia City.
My heels snapped on pavement until he cursed, scooped me into his arms, and didn't put me down for seven blocks.
Now we're in a basement. Somewhere downtown.
No windows. No clocks. Just concrete walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and a cot against the far wall with peeling white sheets.
We haven't spoken since the sirens.
I stand by the sink.
Hands braced.
Trying to catch my breath while Killian paces like a soldier waiting for a ghost to show up and finish the job.
I can't take the silence anymore.
I turn.
"Who were you really sent for?"
He stops.
His back is to me.
And for a moment I think he didn't hear me.
But then—
"Your father," he says.
My stomach twists.
"What?"
He turns. Face unreadable.
"Officially, the contract wasn't mine. It was floated. Assessed. Vetted. But when it hit black status—when it went dark—that's when they looped me in."
"Why him?"
His jaw tightens. "He was accused of brokering intel through Aurelia's back channels. Leaking arms deals to hostile players overseas."
I laugh, sharp. "So he was doing exactly what every other elite in this city does."
He doesn't flinch. "But your father had something they didn't."
"What?"
"You."
I freeze.
He walks closer.
Eyes locked on mine.
"They thought he was untouchable until you entered the picture. You made him vulnerable. Emotional. Predictable."
My heart pounds.
"So they used me to get to him."
He nods once. "You were the pressure point. The emotional leverage. That's how they pulled strings."
I wrap my arms around myself.
Suddenly cold.
"So what was your role?"
Killian's eyes darken.
"I was the fallback."
"What does that mean?"
"If the intelligence didn't pan out. If your father walked. If the White House decided a public scandal was easier than a quiet disappearance—they needed someone in position to eliminate the next threat."
Silence.
Then it hits me.
Me.
"Jesus," I whisper.
I back up.
He doesn't move.
"You were supposed to kill my father," I say. "And when that plan crumbled—when the scandal broke and the headlines shifted—you were reassigned."
I meet his gaze.
Voice shaking.
"To kill me."
His jaw clenches.
But he doesn't deny it.
I laugh again. It sounds like I'm unraveling.
"How long?" I ask.
He says nothing.
I shove him.
"How long, Killian?!"
His voice is a low snarl. "Before the fake engagement."
My breath catches.
"You were already my shadow."
"I was already your coffin," he says quietly.
Those words silence me.
Completely.
He runs a hand through his hair.
Turns his back to me.
"I didn't know who you were. Not then. You were just an asset. A pawn in a play I didn't write."
I shake my head.
"I'm not a pawn."
"I know that now."
"No. You don't. You still see me as leverage, Killian. Even if you tell yourself you don't."
He spins. "I see you as the one thing I couldn't protect myself from."
That shuts me up.
For a moment.
And then I whisper, "Do you still have orders?"
His silence is long.
And loud.
Then—
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"How do I know that?"
He steps forward.
Until we're toe-to-toe.
"I wouldn't be here if I still had orders."
"That's not good enough."
"I burned my clearance two nights ago."
"What?"
"I had a kill code. You understand what that means?"
I stare at him.
"You could've erased me."
"I could've erased us."
I take a shaky breath.
"And you didn't."
"I couldn't."
We stand there.
Breathing each other in like we don't know whether to kiss or kill.
Finally, I whisper, "Why me?"
He looks at me.
Really looks.
"You made me hesitate."
"And that's what saved me?"
"No." His voice drops. "That's what ruined me."
I don't know if he means it in a good way.
Or a terrible one.
I sit on the cot.
He doesn't follow.
He stands there, shoulders squared like he's facing a firing squad.
I trace my fingers over the metal edge of the bedframe.
Then ask the one question I've been afraid to say out loud.
"Is my father still the target?"
Killian's eyes flicker.
And I know before he answers.
"Yes."
I swallow.
Hard.
"You didn't stop the mission. You just… rerouted it."
"No."
"No?"
He walks over. Kneels.
So we're eye level.
"I burned the mission. Completely."
"Why?"
"Because they changed the rules. They stopped caring about who was guilty. They just wanted blood."
I blink. "And you suddenly grew a conscience?"
He looks away.
"No. I just realized I wanted yours more than theirs."
That sentence hits me in the chest.
"Do you still want me?" I ask.
He meets my eyes.
"You don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."
"I do now."
He doesn't speak.
But his hand finds mine.
Warm.
Rough.
Real.
And I feel it.
The truth under his skin.
The apology in his grip.
The promise in his silence.
He leans closer.
"I want you in ways that make me hate myself," he whispers. "Is that what you want to hear?"
I nod.
"Good," he says, pulling away. "Because now I need you to hear something else."
He opens the duffel.
Pulls out a black envelope.
Tosses it on the bed beside me.
I open it.
Inside: a list.
Names. Codes. Coordinates.
The heading:
PRIMARY DECOMMISSION CANDIDATES – CLASSIFIED
I scan the first few names.
My father's is third.
But someone else catches my eye.
Alyssa Cavendish.
I look up.
"What the hell is this?"
"It's the rest of the mission."
"This isn't public intel."
"No."
"These are assassination targets."
"Yes."
"You have a copy?"
"I stole it."
"From who?"
His jaw flexes.
"From the person who sent the phone to our room."
I stare at him.
Heart pounding.
"They're not just watching us," I whisper. "They're eliminating everyone close to me."
He nods.
"They don't want leverage. They want silence."
"Which means—"
"You're next."
The words hang there.
Then—
A noise.
Above.
A faint tap.
Like boots on concrete.
We both freeze.
Killian stands.
Draws his gun.
Motions for silence.
I nod.
He steps toward the stairs.
Slow.
Careful.
I grab the envelope.
Shove it into my coat.
Just in case.
The door upstairs creaks open.
Then—
A scream.
Cut short.
Gunshot.
Then another.
Then silence.
I press my back to the wall.
Killian comes flying down the stairs.
His shirt's bloody.
But it's not his.
He doesn't say a word.
Just grabs my hand.
"We're not safe here."
"Where are we going?"
"To find the one person who can tell us why you were ever on that list."
"Who?"
He looks at me.
And for the first time since I met him, his voice sounds afraid.
"Your mother."