“You should not have come back.”
Elara stopped just inside the doorway. The room smelled of gun oil and rain soaked fabric. Adrian stood with his back to her, shoulders rigid, hands braced against the table as if the weight of the world pressed down on him.
“I did not come back,” she said quietly. “I never left.”
He turned then, eyes dark, sharp, and unreadable. The bandage on his side had bled through, a deep red stain spreading across the white fabric.
“You were supposed to run,” he said. “That was the deal.”
“That was your deal,” Elara replied. “Not mine.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, thunder rolled across the city, distant but persistent, like a warning that refused to fade.
Adrian exhaled slowly. “You do not understand what is coming.”
“Then explain it to
