Melody POV
The safehouse didn't feel like safety.
It felt like exposure.
Too clean. Too quiet. Too… close.
I stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, trying to pretend I didn't feel out of place. Marvis had walked in like he owned the air, tossing his keys onto the counter like this was just another day.
But it wasn't. Not for me.
He watched me carefully, like he was giving me space but still reading every movement, every twitch of discomfort.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"No."
"You've eaten today?"
"Kind of."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Toast," I added quickly.
"Melody."
"Fine. A biscuit. From the vending machine."
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then he walked into the kitchen, pulled out a pan, and started cooking without another word.
I didn't know what surprised me more the fact that he could cook, or the fact that he didn't argue.
The scent of something garlicky and warm filled the room.
And suddenly, I realized how long it had been since I'd smelled food that didn't come from a plastic bag.
I didn't sit. I paced instead.
Too much energy. Too much noise in my head.
"You don't have to act tough here," he said, flipping something in the pan.
I didn't respond.
"It's just us."
"That's exactly why I have to act tough."
He turned off the stove and set two plates down.
"Sit, Melody."
There was something in his voice gentle but firm. Like he wasn't commanding, but wasn't asking either.
So I sat.
The food was simple rice, egg, vegetables but it tasted like the first warm thing I'd had yesterday.
"You didn't have to do this," I mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
"You didn't have to sleep in your car."
I sighed. "We're going in circles."
"No," he said. "You are. Running in them."
That made me pause.
His gaze locked on mine. "You keep pushing everyone away. You think you're only strong if no one sees you fall."
"Isn't that what you do?"
He smiled faintly. "I don't run. I hide. Big difference."
"Still ends the same."
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it ends when one of us decides to stop."
The room felt too quiet suddenly. My fork stilled against the plate.
I wanted to say something sharp. Something that would shut down the softness trying to bloom between us.
But the words didn't come.
Instead, I looked at him.
Really looked.
This man who ruled half the underworld… cooking me rice and watching me like I wasn't a liability, but something worth protecting.
And that terrified me more than any of it.
Because I wasn't used to being seen.
Not like this.