The morning light seeped through the thin curtains, casting a golden hue over the small bedroom. The air was still, thick with the quiet that only came after weeks of chaos. For the first time in what felt like forever, I woke up without the immediate threat of violence looming over me.
Beside me, Clara was still asleep, her breathing soft and steady. Her blonde hair was tousled against the pillow, her lips slightly parted. The bruises on her skin had begun to fade, but the exhaustion still clung to her features. She looked peaceful in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.
I turned on my side, my fingers ghosting over the back of her hand. A part of me still couldn’t believe we had made it here. That we were still alive, still together.
But the world outside hadn’t stopped. Richard was still a question mark hanging over our heads, and we couldn’t afford to pretend he didn’t exist.
Yet, in this moment, with Clara beside me, I let myself forget. Just for a little while.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a brief second, confusion flickered in her gaze before recognition set in. A slow smile tugged at her lips.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, her voice husky from sleep.
I smirked. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Hard to sleep when you’re being watched like a zoo exhibit.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t move away. Instead, I ran my fingers lightly over her wrist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch.
Her eyes softened, but a hint of hesitation crossed her face. “Does it feel strange to you?”
“What?”
“This. Waking up without running, without worrying about what’s waiting around the corner.”
I sighed, shifting onto my back and staring at the ceiling. “It feels… unnatural.”
She hummed in agreement, rolling onto her side to face me. “Do you think we’ll ever be normal again?”
Normal. The word felt foreign. I didn’t know if we had ever truly been normal, even before everything fell apart.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think… I think we have a chance to try.”
Clara studied me for a moment, then reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I like the sound of that.”
I caught her hand before she could pull away, pressing a kiss to her palm. Her breath hitched, and I saw something flicker in her eyes—something deeper, more certain.
The weight of everything we had been through, everything we had survived, settled between us. And yet, in that moment, there was nothing but her.
I leaned in, my lips barely brushing against hers. “We’ll figure it out,” I whispered.
She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she closed the distance, kissing me slowly, like she was memorizing the moment.
And maybe, she was.
We spent the morning in a fragile bubble of normalcy—coffee in mismatched mugs, the hum of the old apartment heater, stolen glances and quiet touches.
Evelyn had holed herself up in the living room, buried in her laptop, while Marcelo made rounds to check for any signs of danger outside.
But by midday, reality came knocking.
“News update,” Evelyn announced, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Richard’s name hasn’t surfaced anywhere. No reports, no sightings.”
Marcelo frowned. “That’s not a good thing.”
Clara tensed beside me, her fingers tightening around her mug. “It means he’s waiting.”
Evelyn nodded, clicking through screens. “And we don’t know what for.”
I exhaled sharply. “Then we assume he’s alive and planning something.”
Marcelo crossed his arms. “Which means we need to do the same.”
That afternoon, Marcelo led us through a training routine in the cramped living room. He insisted that we couldn’t afford to be out of shape, especially if Richard was planning a comeback.
Clara, though still recovering, was determined to keep up. Sweat glistened on her skin as she threw a punch at Marcelo’s outstretched hand. He blocked it effortlessly, shaking his head.
“You’re pulling back too soon,” he said. “Follow through.”
She rolled her shoulders, nodding. When she swung again, her movements were sharper, more deliberate.
I watched her, unable to hide my admiration. She had come so far from the woman who had once been forced to run. Now, she was standing her ground, ready to fight.
When it was my turn, Marcelo turned to me with a knowing smirk. “Think you still got it, Bela?”
I smirked right back. “I guess we’ll see.”
By evening, Evelyn had another update.
“We need to move,” she said, closing her laptop. “We can’t hide in this apartment forever.”
Clara and I exchanged a glance.
“We go back into the city,” Marcelo suggested. “But not recklessly. We blend in. We become ghosts.”
It was a dangerous idea, but he was right. Staying hidden forever wasn’t an option.
Clara tilted her head, considering. “Where do we start?”
Evelyn smirked. “With new identities.”
She pulled out a small folder, filled with forged documents, new names, new lives.
I picked up one of the IDs, running my fingers over the fake name printed on it.
“This feels too real,” Clara muttered.
Marcelo chuckled. “That’s the point.”
I looked at Clara, searching her expression. “Are you ready for this?”
She exhaled slowly, then met my gaze. “With you? Always.”
That night, after everyone had gone to their rooms, Clara and I sat on the small balcony, looking out at the city. The lights twinkled below us, casting a deceptive sense of calm.
“I missed this,” she admitted. “Being somewhere that isn’t just walls and hiding places.”
I nodded, my fingers laced with hers. “Me too.”
For a while, we just sat there, breathing in the cool night air.
Then, a movement in the shadows below caught my eye.
A figure stood across the street, partially hidden under a hood.
And even though I couldn’t see his face clearly, my blood ran cold.
“Bela?” Clara noticed my tension, following my gaze.
I swallowed, gripping her hand tighter. “We’re not alone.”
Clara stiffened. “Is it him?”
The figure took a slow step forward, just enough for the dim streetlight to catch his face.
It wasn’t Richard.
But it was someone I never expected to see again.
“Leo,” I breathed.
Clara’s eyes widened. “Who the hell is Leo?”
And just like that, normalcy slipped through our fingers once again.