I don’t look back. Because if I do, I’m not sure who I’ll see him as: captor, protector, or something far more dangerous.
I hear a soft flutter and turn my head.
That’s when I see it. Another message. Folded neatly. Weighted with a smooth river stone. Placed dead center on the balcony railing—too deliberate to be an accident, too bold to be chance.
My body locks.
Breath catches.
Blood ices over.
This isn’t a threat shouted from the dark.
This is confidence.
My fingers tremble as I reach for it, every instinct screaming not to touch, not to know. But I already know. I feel it in the hollow of my chest, the way the world narrows to a single point.
I unfold the paper.
Three lines.
No flourish.
No hesitation.
WE WARNED YOU.
NEXT TIME,
WE WON’T MISS.
The words blur as my pulse roars in my ears.
They were here.
Not beyond the walls.
Not watching from a distance.
Here.
I stumble back—and hit something solid.
No. Someone.
Konstantin. Nik is beside him.
His arms lock around me instantly, hard and unyielding, his body pivoting so I’m no longer exposed. One hand comes up, firm at my spine, the other already reaching past me.
The note is gone from my fingers before I even register the movement.
I feel it before I hear it—the shift in him. The moment the last restraint drops.
His jaw tightens. His breath evens out. His pulse, pressed against my temple, slows into something cold and controlled. Terrifyingly so.
He reads the note once.
That’s all it takes.