Chapter 16 Chapter 16
He finished reassembling the weapon, wiped it down, and set it aside. When she moved closer, he looked up at her properly for the first time since dawn. The exhaustion in his face hadn’t faded, but something else had replaced it—focus sharpened to something almost calm.
“Sit,” he said, nodding to the chair across from him.
She did. On the table between them lay a folded city map, the same one she’d seen pinned in the safe room. He opened it, tracing lines with a pen. “Every mark here is one of my safehouses. Or was. By tonight, half of them will be compromised.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I trained the people who’ll be searching them.” His mouth twisted. “They’ll think like me.”
“So we can’t think like you,” she said quietly. “We have to think like someone else.”
He raised his eyes, measuring her, then nodded slowly. “Good.”
For a while, they worked in silence—him sketching routes, her noting times from the tram schedules scattered around the room. The light shifted from grey to gold as the sun found its way through the broken roof panels. At one point, she reached for the pen at the same moment he did; their hands brushed, and both froze.
The touch lasted only a second, but the air changed.
“You shouldn’t have followed me into the depot,” he said finally.
“You shouldn’t have left me.”
His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable. “I had to make sure they followed me, not you.”
“It still almost got you killed.”
“Almost is the only kind that matters,” he said softly.
She leaned back, studying him. Without the constant movement, he seemed almost human—tired, scarred, but undeniably alive. The bandage on his thigh had darkened again, and she could see the faint tremor in his leg.
“You need a doctor,” she said.
“I need time.”
“I can get supplies—”
“You’d never make it past the checkpoint.” His tone gentled. “It’ll hold.”
Nina folded her arms. “You know, for someone who claims to plan everything, you don’t plan for yourself very well.”
That earned a real smile, small but genuine. “You sound like Viktor.”
“Was he the only person you ever listened to?”
“He was the only one who ever made me want to.”
The silence after that felt heavier than the words. She wanted to ask if Viktor had been father, mentor, or something darker, but Adrian had already turned back to the map, closing the subject as surely as he closed his gun case.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You asked me last night why I keep saving you.”
She looked up.
“It’s not because I’m noble,” he said. “It’s because every time I see them come after you, I see what they made of me. I don’t want that written twice.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s not saving. That’s redemption.”
“Call it what you like.”
The sunlight caught his profile, outlining the faint scar at his temple, the stubborn set of his jaw. He looked like someone carved from all the wrong choices.
“Maybe you deserve redemption,” she said.
He met her eyes, and for a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
“Maybe you do too,” he answered.
The moment passed. Outside, a truck rumbled past the factory gates, shaking dust from the ceiling. Adrian folded the map and stood. “Time to move.”
“Where?”
“There’s an old apartment block near Tivoli. Underground parking, two exits. We can regroup there.”
“And then?” she asked.
“Then I start calling debts.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped the pistol inside the shoulder holster. She followed him to the door, the floorboards creaking beneath their weight. Just before he opened it, he paused.
“You ready?”
Nina managed a thin smile. “You’ve already dragged me through explosions, gunfire, and sewers. How much worse can it get?”
“Don’t tempt it,” he said, and pushed the door open.
They stepped into the morning fog. The air smelled of wet iron and ash, but the light was warm for the first time in days. Somewhere behind them, the factory’s single bulb flickered out—a quiet reminder that nothing safe lasted long.
As they crossed the yard toward the waiting streets, Adrian’s shadow fell over hers, and for once they moved in the same rhythm, two halves of the same outline disappearing into the city that had already begun to wake.
The Tivoli apartment looked ordinary from the street—one more faded building tucked behind the park—but inside it smelled of gun oil and dust. Every window had been painted shut. Adrian moved through the rooms with the easy precision of someone who had already memorised every escape route.
By noon, his wound had reopened. He tightened the bandage himself, jaw locked, refusing help. When Nina insisted, he finally looked at her and said, “If you want to help, there’s a package waiting for me near the train station. Locker seventeen. Code 9081.”
“What’s in it?”
“Something we’ll need before nightfall.”
“Why not go yourself?”
“Because they’ll expect me.” He met her gaze. “They won’t expect you.”
The words landed like a test she hadn’t studied for. She nodded anyway.
Outside, the city had dried to a brittle calm. The park smelled of wet leaves; children’s laughter drifted faintly from somewhere she couldn’t see. It felt obscene that the world could look so normal after the past two nights. She walked fast, hood up, following the tram lines toward the station.
Her reflection flickered in shop windows—pale, haunted. She barely recognised the woman staring back.
The train station loomed ahead, all glass and steel. Commuters moved like a current, briefcases and umbrellas forming a blur of motion. She slipped through them to the row of lockers near the restrooms. Seventeen sat at the far end.
The keypad blinked red. She entered 9-0-8-1.
A soft click, then the door swung open. Inside lay a small black case, no larger than a book, wrapped in waterproof plastic. She reached for it—and froze.
Across the hall, a man in a dark coat lowered his newspaper. His eyes were already on her.