AROUND 7:00PM,
I stepped away from the window and turned back toward them, keeping my movements slow, deliberate. They didn't need to see urgency on my face—only control.
"Alright," I said gently, lowering my voice so it filled the room without pressing on them. "For tonight, you're staying here. This room. You don't leave it for any reason unless Dorian or I are with you."
Mrs. Reiss tightened her grip on her bag, nodding. Her eyes searched my face, not for authority, but for truth.
"This is temporary," I continued, meeting her gaze. "By morning, we'll move you. Quietly. No crowds, no stops that aren't planned."
She swallowed. "Move us… where?"
"Across the border," I answered honestly. "Another country. Somewhere safer. You have allies there—people connected to an old friend of yours. They'll take over once we get you out."
Her shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of constant fear pressing down on her. "And my son?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I looked at him then. He sat on the edge of the bed, feet not quite touching the floor, watching us with wide, serious eyes that didn't belong to a child his age.
"He goes with you," I said firmly. "Nothing separates you. I promise."
He relaxed just a little at that, leaning closer to his mother. Mrs. Reiss pressed a hand to her mouth, blinking rapidly before nodding again.
"For now," I added, "keep the curtains closed. No lights after midnight. If you hear anything—anything at all—you wake me or Dorian immediately. We're nearby the whole time."
Dorian stepped forward then, his presence calm but solid. "We'll be rotating watch," he said. "You won't be alone."
Mrs. Reiss finally let herself sit down, exhaustion catching up with her all at once. "Thank you," she said again, this time steadier. "I didn't know who else to trust."
I softened my tone just a fraction. "You did the right thing asking for help. Tonight, rest. As much as you can."
I turned toward the door, already mentally mapping escape routes, response times, contingencies.
Tomorrow, we would move fast.
Tomorrow, I would get them out.
But tonight, this room—room 134—was their shelter.
And as long as I was standing guard, no one was getting through.
I stayed with them after that, keeping my presence quiet, almost invisible. Dinner was simple—room service, untouched plates at first, then small bites once I reassured them again that it was safe. The boy ate slowly, fatigue finally winning over fear. Mrs. Reiss watched him the entire time, as if looking away might make him disappear.
When they finally lay down to sleep, I moved to the far corner of the room, back against the wall where I could see both the door and the window. Dorian stood near the entrance, focused, checking his watch, listening through his comms, doing his job with the steady patience of someone who knew how long nights could get.
The room dimmed. Breathing slowed. Silence settled.
I told myself to stay alert. I always did.
But exhaustion has a way of sneaking in, especially when you don't invite it.
My mind drifted—not fully asleep, not fully awake. And then I was somewhere else.
I was standing in the middle of a room soaked in red. The smell of metal filled the air. My hands were tight around a gun, slick, trembling, stained. My clothes were heavy with blood that wasn't mine—but it was on me all the same.
Bodies lay scattered around me. Men. Grown men. Some twisted on the floor, others slumped against walls. Their faces were frozen in shock, fear, disbelief. I didn't recognize them individually, but I knew exactly who they were.
Targets.
My chest felt hollow as I looked down at my hands. That was the first time. The first mission where I hadn't frozen. Where I hadn't hesitated. Where I'd pulled the trigger because I had to—because if I didn't, someone else would die.
I remembered the moment clearly. The sound. The recoil. The way something inside me cracked—and hardened—at the same time.
I hadn't felt victorious.
I hadn't felt proud.
I'd just stood there afterward, like I was now, surrounded by the proof of what I had become.
Then the scene began to blur, the edges melting away, the weight pressing harder on my chest—
I jolted back, breath sharp, heart pounding.
The hotel room came back into focus. Dim light. Soft breathing. Dorian still at the door, exactly where he should be. The Reiss family asleep, unaware of how close the past had crept.
I swallowed, steadying myself, forcing my hands to unclench.
This was why I did this.
This was the cost.
I shifted slightly, grounding myself in the present, eyes scanning the room again. Whatever ghosts my mind dragged up, I couldn't afford to sink into them—not tonight.
Not while two lives depended on me staying awake.
Sometime later, the air in the room shifted.
It was subtle—a faint brush of cool wind slipping through the narrow gap near the window, barely enough to stir the curtains. It skimmed over my skin, light and fleeting, but it was enough to pull my thoughts somewhere I didn't want them to go.
Him.
Alexander.
The memory came uninvited—the way his fingers had brushed my cheek, slow, almost careful, as if he hadn't been sure I'd let him. There had been no force in it. No demand. Just warmth, steady and deliberate.
And that was what unsettled me.
I frowned slightly, staring at nothing, my jaw tightening. It made no sense. I had faced men far worse than him—men who screamed, men who bled, men whose lives had ended by my hands. I had done things that would hollow most people out completely.
So why did that touch linger?
Why did something so small feel heavier than blood-soaked memories?
I exhaled quietly, frustration curling in my chest. It wasn't weakness. I knew that. But it was… unfamiliar. Dangerous in a different way. Alexander hadn't looked at me like prey or property. He hadn't pushed. He'd watched. Waited. As if he were studying something fragile instead of something to conquer.
And that terrified me more than violence ever had.
Why him?
Why now?
I shook my head almost imperceptibly, grounding myself again. This wasn't the time for questions like that. Feelings didn't belong here—not in this room, not on this mission. I had a job to do. Lives to protect.
The breeze faded. The memory dulled.
I straightened slightly, eyes returning to the door, to Dorian's silhouette, to the quiet rise and fall of the Reiss family's breathing. Whatever strange pull Alexander Qinn had stirred in me, I locked it away where it belonged.
For now.
Because the world didn't pause for confusion.
And neither could I.