Claire's POV

I didn’t say a word.

I couldn’t.

Vera’s grip was firm around my wrist, dragging me through the empty streets like I was weightless, like my silence didn’t bother her. But I could feel the tension in her body with every step—tight, coiled, like if I so much as breathed wrong, she’d snap again.

My legs moved because hers did. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t resisting. The adrenaline had long burned off, leaving only this hollow, floating feeling behind my ribs. Elias was dead. Again, someone was gone because of me. And Vera…

God, Vera.

She saved me. She shot him. She said she wanted my hands. She said she couldn’t lose me.

And now she wasn’t saying anything at all.

We reached the safehouse. The heavy door creaked open. Her boots echoed across the concrete floor. Mine barely made a sound. The crew barely looked up. They felt the storm rolling in behind her and knew better than to speak.

I expected her to take me to my room.

She didn’t.

She opened her door instead.

Tugged me inside.

And shut it behind us with a final, quiet click.

The space was colder than I remembered—sterile, controlled, like everything inside had a place. I stood there, numb, while she released my wrist and shrugged off her coat like she hadn’t just pulled me out of hell.

I didn’t ask why we were here.

I didn’t ask for anything.

I just stood in the middle of her room, quiet, broken, and wondering what the hell came next.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just walked toward me, slow and steady, the way she always did—like nothing could touch her, like she owned every breath in the room.

Then her arms wrapped around me.

Strong.

Warm.

Too much.

I flinched.

Then shoved her back with both hands, harder than I meant to.

“Don’t.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, stiff. She took a step back, blinking once like I’d slapped her. For a second—just one—I saw it in her face.

Hurt.

Real, quiet, unguarded.

Then it was gone.

The wall came back up like it never cracked at all. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes cooled.

She looked at me like she hadn’t just tried to hold me.

Like she hadn’t just watched me reject it.

I hated the silence that followed. I hated how she didn’t ask why. How she just swallowed it like she always did.

And I hated that part of me still wanted to be pulled back in.

Vera's POV

Her hands hit my chest and shoved me back.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice cracking with something jagged. Not hate. Not fear. Just too much.

I froze.

My arms hung there, empty. My body locked in place, like it didn’t know what to do without her in it.

For a moment, I didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

I just stared at her.

And she stared back—wide-eyed, shaking, broken in a way I’d never wanted to see. Because I caused it. Or maybe I saved her. I didn’t even know anymore.

The rejection hit harder than the gun recoil.

She pushed me like I was the threat.

And maybe I was.

I felt the sting, sharp and clean, and I hated how real it felt. My chest pulled tight. I could feel it. But I didn’t let it show.

I straightened. Composed.

Locked it all back behind the steel door where it belonged.

“Fine,” I said quietly, more to myself than her. My voice didn’t shake. It never did.

I stood there for a long second, the space where her body had been still burning against my skin. The way she pushed me, the way she looked at me like I was the one she needed saving from—it cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

My chest tightened, and that voice—the one I hated most—echoed in my head.

“She’s not like you, Vera. You can’t hold her the way you hold power. If you want to keep her, use your fucking words for once.”

Valeria’s voice.

Annoying. Sharp. And right.

I dragged a breath through my teeth and turned back to Claire. She was still standing, like she didn’t trust me not to strike. Her arms were wrapped tight around herself like armor.

I kept my voice steady. “Sit down.”

She didn’t move.

She just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Like she couldn’t believe I’d just ask her to sit when an hour ago I was putting bullets in people’s heads.

“Fine,” I muttered, rubbing a hand down my face. “You want to use words?”

I pulled out the chair across from mine and nodded at it.

“Sit down,” I said again, calmer this time. “Let’s talk.”

The words tasted foreign in my mouth. Unnatural.

But if that’s what it took to make her stay—

I’d talk.

She didn’t sit right away. Not completely. She hovered like she was deciding whether to run or stay. But eventually, she lowered herself into the chair across from me, arms still crossed, eyes still guarded.

Fine.

It was a start.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to find the right words—ones that didn’t sound like commands or threats.

“I meant what I said back there,” I started, my voice rough. “I don’t want to lose you, Claire.”

She looked at me, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. I saw it in her eyes—suspicion, fear, heartbreak… all of it.

“I know I’m too much,” I said. “I know what I am. But you chose me. You said you had my back. You don’t get to just walk away the second it gets ugly.”

I let the words hang for a second.

Because it had gotten ugly. I didn’t pretend otherwise.

“And Elias…” My jaw clenched, but I kept going. “He was going to kill you. That’s not a theory. That’s fact. I read the signs. I know how men like him move.”

I leaned back, eyes locked on hers. “I’m not apologizing for the bullet.”

I saw her flinch. But I didn’t look away.

“Not when it saved your life.”

The silence stretched too long. Too tight. It wrapped around my throat like a noose, choking every ounce of control I had left.

Claire just sat there, eyes wet, jaw set. Still quiet. Still locked up in whatever hell I’d dragged her through.

I slammed my palm against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room.

“Claire, talk to me!”

Her eyes widened.

“I’m talking,” I said, my voice sharp, chest heaving. “I’m saying the damn words you wanted, so now you talk. You don’t get to sit there and shut down like I’m the only one who did something wrong!”

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

And it broke something in me.

“I ran out of words,” I snapped, slumping back in the chair, running a hand through my hair. “Do you get that? I don’t do this. I don’t say this shit. But for you—I’m fucking trying.”

My voice dropped.

Raw. Quiet.

“I’m trying. So talk.”

Claire turned her head away from me, her shoulders tight, her hands clenched in her lap. She bit her lip hard, trying to keep it together.

But the sob slipped out anyway.

Small. Broken. Real.

It knocked the air out of my chest.

I froze.

Everything in me stilled—like my body didn’t know how to move when it wasn’t fighting or killing or barking orders. But then I stood slowly, my chair scraping back against the floor. I moved to her side, cautious, like she might shatter if I touched her wrong.

My arms slid around her.

She didn’t resist.

“Claire…” I whispered, voice catching as I pulled her into me, one hand moving gently into her hair. She was trembling. I’d seen her hurt before, angry, bleeding—but never like this. Never this fragile.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, holding her tighter. “Calm down…”

My voice softened into something even I barely recognized. “Are you scared of me?”

The question sat between us like a knife.

Because I didn’t want the answer.

But I had to know.

Claire shook her head, barely moving, but it was enough.

She wasn’t scared of me.

Relief hit me so hard I almost staggered. But it didn’t fix anything. Not yet.

“Then what?” I asked quietly. “Talk to me.”

She finally looked at me, her eyes glossy, her voice barely hanging on. “What are we, Vera? What am I?”

The words knocked the breath out of my lungs.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

She kept going. “I thought… I thought we weren’t going to talk about this yet.”

I could hear the panic in her voice now. It cracked on the edges, like something was splintering inside her. “I can’t. I can’t, Vera.”

She started to sob again, and I instinctively pulled her closer, my arms locking around her. “Okay, calm down… please.” My voice sounded desperate.

“I don’t want anyone touching you,” The words came out broken. Hurt. Vulnerable.

I blinked, stunned.

She pulled back, just enough to look at me. Her eyes were wet, confused, aching.

“Oh…” I said slowly, the realization dawning on me . “So this… this is about Gabriel?”

She didn’t answer.

“So you’re not mad at me for Elias?”

“I am,” she said. “But that’s not what started this.”

She pulled back, wiping her face, and my arms felt too empty again.

Then she looked at me—direct, sharp—and asked the one thing I didn’t want to hear.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Her voice wasn’t angry. It was quiet. Raw. Her eyes held mine like she was begging for one answer. Just one.

I forced the words out. “No. God, no, Claire.” I stood up, running a hand through my hair, pacing like I could outrun the question. “No, Claire. Nothing happened.”

She stared at me, and I could see the fight easing out of her body—just slightly.

I held her gaze. “And nothing will.”

She tilted her head, voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

I hesitated.

“Because…”

“Because what, Vera?” she asked again, stepping closer.

I couldn’t say it. Not while she was looking at me like that. Not when I felt one second away from breaking apart.

“I… don’t want Gabriel,” I said, eyes falling to the floor.

Her footsteps crossed the room.

I didn’t move.

Then her hand touched my chin—firm, confident. She tilted my face up.

“Who do you want?” she asked.

My eyes locked with hers.

“Who do you want, Vera?” she whispered again, softer this time. Closer.

I couldn’t speak.

Then she shoved me—not hard, but enough to press me against the wall.

My breath caught. The contact sent a rush through me, unexpected and intense. I tried to keep my composure, but it nearly knocked the air out of me.

Claire’s mouth moved to my neck. Soft, slow, wet kisses trailing against my skin. I gasped, hands instinctively moving to her waist, holding on, grounding myself.

A soft sound escaped me—hum, breath, something in between.

And then, finally—

“You,” I said, the word barely escaping. But it was real. And it was hers.

Claire's POV

You.

The word settled in my chest like fire—hot, consuming, and too much.

I stayed pressed against her, her breath against my skin, her hands still gripping my waist like she didn’t trust herself to let go. I felt her chest rise and fall, shaky, uneven. She was always composed, always in control.

But not now.

Not when she said me.

Not when her voice broke just enough for me to hear the truth in it.

I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glassy, unreadable, and full of something that wasn’t anger. Wasn’t power. It was something else.

Need.

She looked at me like I undid her—like touching me was dangerous, and not touching me would kill her.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

I leaned in and kissed her—not gentle, not polite. I kissed her like I needed her to feel what was happening inside me. Like I was trying to crawl under her skin and stay there.

Her lips met mine with a hunger I wasn’t ready for. She kissed back hard, like she was trying to memorize me—claim me. Her hands slid from my waist to my back, pulling me closer, until there was nothing between us.

I moaned into her mouth, and she swallowed it like a secret.

She broke the kiss just enough to press her forehead to mine. Her breathing was ragged.

“This isn’t who I am,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“I know,” I said, brushing my nose against hers. “But this is who you are with me.”

She closed her eyes like that hurt.

I kissed her again, slower this time. My hands slid under her shirt, feeling the heat of her skin. She didn’t stop me.

Didn’t flinch.

Her walls were gone.

And for the first time, I wasn’t scared of her.

She was scared of me—of what I made her feel.

And I’d never wanted anything more in my life.