Chapter 71 Chapter 72
The morning light had turned silver, the kind that makes a city look unreal.
Nina stood at the window and watched Vienna come alive again—trams clattering, steam rising from drains—ordinary life pretending nothing beneath it burned.
Behind her, Adrian checked the security panel one last time. Every lock hummed. Every sensor blinked green.
“They’ll try again before night,” he said.
“Then we go first.”
He looked up. “You want to hunt him in his own city?”
“You taught me not to wait for ghosts.”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “You’re not bait.”
“Then stop treating me like I am.”
For a moment, the room felt smaller, the air heavy with words they hadn’t said. He crossed the space between them slowly, the predator buried under the calm.
“You have no idea what he’ll do to get to you.”
“I have an idea,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’ve seen what you’ll do.”
He should have turned away. Instead, he reached for her, fingertips brushing her throat where her pulse jumped. “You think I’m like him?”
“No,” she said. “That’s what scares me. You’re worse when it comes to me.”
The corner of his mouth curved—half pain, half pride. “You still don’t know what that means.”
“Then teach me.”
He didn’t kiss her; he just leaned close enough for his breath to blur the words between them. “You wouldn’t survive that lesson.”
“Try me.”
The knock at the door cut through the tension like a blade.
Adrian’s gun was in his hand before she blinked. He motioned her toward the wall. The knock came again, softer this time, followed by a voice.
“Boss. It’s Erik.”
Adrian opened the door a fraction. Erik stepped inside quickly, snow melting off his coat. “You need to move. They hit Elara’s place an hour ago. Everyone’s gone.”
Nina’s stomach dropped. “Gone?”
Erik nodded. “Your brother’s men. Professional. Quiet.”
Adrian’s voice stayed level. “He’s cleaning the map.”
“There’s more.” Erik handed him a small envelope. “They left this on the counter. Addressed to you.”
Adrian slit it open with his knife. Inside was a single photograph: the townhouse, taken from across the street, last night. In the lower corner, written in ink: SHE LOOKS SAFE. FOR NOW.
The paper trembled slightly in his hand. He didn’t show it, but Nina saw the muscle in his throat tighten.
“He’s close,” she said.
“He’s everywhere,” Adrian replied. He turned to Erik. “Get the car. South tunnel.”
Erik hesitated. “And her?”
Adrian’s answer was immediate. “With me.”
When Erik left, Nina touched his arm. “Where are we going?”
“To end this before he does.”
“By killing him?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Adrian—”
He looked at her sharply. “He’ll never stop. You think there’s mercy left between us? There isn’t.”
They packed fast. The room looked smaller stripped of their things. She watched him holster the second pistol, slide a knife into his boot, the efficiency of a man who’d done this too many times.
“Do you ever wonder what you’d be without all of this?” she asked.
“Empty,” he said. Then, quieter: “Until you.”
She stepped close enough that her breath touched his collar. “Then don’t lose me to the part of you that kills everything it loves.”
He didn’t answer, but his hand rose, cupping her cheek. The touch was rough, unsteady. “You’re the only thing left that feels real,” he said, voice low. “Don’t make me prove it.”
She caught his wrist and pressed her lips to his palm. “Then don’t make me your proof. Make me your partner.”
Something in him eased—just enough.
The street outside was empty when they left. Erik waited by the car, engine running. The sky hung low and colourless.
As they pulled away, Nina glanced back once. In the upper window of the townhouse, a shadow moved—too slow to be the wind.
“Adrian—”
“I see it.” He turned the wheel hard, cutting down a side street. Behind them, glass shattered; the front windows exploded outward in a burst of light and debris.
The blast rolled through the car, throwing her forward. Adrian slammed the brakes, shielding her as fragments pinged off the chassis. The echo of it chased them down the narrow lane.
When the sound faded, he looked back at the rising smoke. “He wants me to think it’s over.”
“And is it?”
“No,” he said. “It’s an invitation.”
They ditched the car near the canal and went on foot, the city unfolding around them like a labyrinth. Adrian moved fast but not recklessly; every turn felt chosen years ago.
Finally, he stopped in front of an old theatre, its sign half-erased by time. “We’ll stay here tonight,” he said.
Nina frowned. “This is your idea of safe?”
“Nothing’s safe. But this place has ghosts of its own. He won’t expect me to hide among them.”
Inside, the air smelled of dust and velvet. The stage was collapsed, seats draped in sheets. He led her to a small room backstage—a space with mirrors cracked into spider-webs and the faint glint of forgotten light bulbs.
“Stay close,” he said.
“I always do.”
He looked at her reflection in one of the mirrors. “That’s what scares me.”
Later, when the silence settled, he lit a single candle. Its glow turned the mirror into a soft blur of colour. Nina stood behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “You keep looking for the man you were,” she murmured.
“I buried him.”
“Maybe he’s the only one who knows how to finish this.”
He turned, catching her around the waist. “If I bring him back, you won’t like what you see.”
“I already see him,” she said. “And I’m still here.”
He kissed her then—slow, deliberate, almost reverent. When they pulled apart, he whispered against her mouth, “Then stay.”
“I told you I would.”
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the faint echo of sirens through the empty streets. The city was listening again.