The fire burned bright in the rearview mirror, a blazing inferno swallowing everything inside that warehouse. It should have felt like victory. The end of a nightmare.
But it didn’t.
Clara was gripping my hand so tightly that I could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. Her eyes were fixed on the flames, but her mind was elsewhere. Mine was too.
Evelyn sat in the backseat, her laptop balanced on her knees as she typed furiously. Marcelo drove in silence, his eyes flickering between the road and the mirror, searching for any sign that we weren’t alone.
It was Marcelo who spoke first.
“If Richard’s still alive, he’s going to come back harder.”
Clara let out a shaky breath. “If.”
Marcelo’s expression was grim. “I don’t believe in ‘ifs’ when it comes to men like him. We’ve burned a hole in his plans, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone.”
Evelyn tapped a few keys, her screen reflecting off her face. “No emergency reports on a body yet. No survivors listed either.”
I swallowed. That gnawing feeling in my stomach only grew.
“He could’ve escaped before the explosion,” I murmured.
“He could be dead,” Clara countered. But even as she said it, she didn’t sound convinced.
Marcelo clenched the steering wheel. “We can’t take chances. That’s why we’re getting off the grid—at least for a while.”
The silence stretched between us as we sped through the dimly lit streets, leaving behind the wreckage and moving toward the unknown.
Marcelo pulled into an underground parking garage beneath an unassuming building. The kind of place no one would look for us. The safe house was small—another temporary hiding spot Evelyn had set up through an old contact.
I helped Clara out of the car, feeling the slight unsteadiness in her steps. Even though she had healed enough to walk on her own, I could see how much energy it took from her.
Marcelo led us inside, double-checking the locks as Evelyn set up her laptop at the small dining table. The space was compact—two bedrooms, a couch, and a kitchenette. Nothing fancy. Nothing that felt like home.
“Not exactly five-star,” Marcelo muttered, throwing his duffel bag onto the couch.
“It’ll do,” Clara said softly, sitting down on the armrest.
I crouched in front of her, studying her face. “You should rest.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
I shook my head. “Clara…”
She sighed, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You worry too much.”
“I have good reason to.”
Her lips quirked up slightly. “And if I told you to stop?”
I held her gaze. “Not happening.”
She exhaled in defeat, but there was something warm in her eyes.
Evelyn cleared her throat from across the room. “I hate to interrupt whatever this is, but we need to talk strategy.”
Clara and I pulled apart, though her hand lingered in mine for just a second longer.
Marcelo grabbed a chair, sitting down beside Evelyn. “Alright, what do we know?”
Evelyn pulled up a map on her screen. “So far, there’s been no confirmed sighting of Richard. Either he’s dead, or he’s smart enough to stay hidden.”
Marcelo rubbed his jaw. “Knowing him? The second option.”
I folded my arms. “So what’s the plan? We just keep hiding?”
Evelyn shook her head. “We stay low, but we stay ahead. If Richard’s alive, he’ll be looking for us. We need to be ready.”
Clara was quiet, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind.
“Clara,” I pressed gently. “What do you think?”
She took a slow breath. “I think… I think I don’t want to spend whatever time we have left looking over our shoulders.”
The words hung heavy between us.
Marcelo leaned back. “Then we make sure he can’t come after us again.”
I exchanged a glance with Clara.
And for the first time in a long time, I thought: Maybe this could really be over.
Later that night, after Evelyn and Marcelo had gone to their rooms, I found Clara sitting on the bed, staring at the wall as if lost in thought.
I stepped inside quietly. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She turned her head slightly, offering a small smile. “Not sure they’re worth that much.”
I sat down beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched.
“We’re safe,” I said, not entirely sure if I was trying to convince her or myself.
“For now,” she murmured.
I reached for her hand, lacing our fingers together. “That’s all we need. For now.”
She exhaled, leaning her head against my shoulder. “It’s strange. We’ve been running for so long, and now that we’ve stopped, I don’t know what to do.”
I turned my head, pressing a soft kiss against her hair. “We figure it out together.”
She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at me. “And if this isn’t over?”
I searched her face, feeling the weight of everything we had been through, everything we still had left to face.
“Then we fight,” I said simply.
Clara’s lips parted slightly, her gaze locked on mine. For a moment, there was nothing else in the world—just her, just us.
She leaned in, hesitating for only a second before pressing her lips to mine.
The kiss was slow, deliberate. There was no urgency, no fear—only the quiet understanding that whatever happened next, we would face it together.
Her fingers curled into my hoodie, pulling me closer, and I let myself sink into her warmth.
When we finally pulled apart, her forehead rested against mine.
“No more running,” she whispered.
I smiled softly. “No more running.”
We sat there for a long time, wrapped in silence, holding onto each other like we were afraid to let go.
And for the first time in weeks, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—we had finally found a place to belong.