The city outside was deceptively quiet. From the apartment window, I could see the streets below, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights, people walking as if the world hadn't just shifted beneath my feet. As if everything wasn’t different now.
Because it was.
Richard was gone.
The man who had been a threat to us for so long was finally out of the picture.
And yet, I couldn’t shake the unease pressing against my chest.
We had won. But at what cost?
The apartment still smelled faintly of blood, gunpowder, and exhaustion. Leo was in the back room, healing. Marcelo had retreated to the balcony, smoking a cigarette despite the fact that he hated them, and Evelyn was on her laptop, typing away, still trying to predict the next disaster.
And Clara...
Clara was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, her fingers drumming lightly against her thigh.
She hadn’t spoken much since last night. Since I pulled the trigger and ended it.
I didn’t know what to say to her.
But I knew I needed to say something.
I pushed away from the window and crossed the room, lowering myself onto the couch beside her. She didn’t look at me at first, but when she finally did, her expression was unreadable.
“You’re thinking too much,” she murmured.
I exhaled a laugh. “That’s all I know how to do.”
Clara studied me for a moment before shaking her head. “We should celebrate.”
That caught me off guard. “Celebrate?”
She shrugged. “We survived.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. We did.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then, without warning, Clara stood, reaching for my hand. “Come on.”
I hesitated. “Where are we going?”
She smiled—a real one this time. “To remind you how to live.”
Clara dragged me outside, down the city streets, until we ended up in a bar that looked like it had been built decades ago and never remodeled. The lighting was dim, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and something fried.
It was loud, filled with people who didn’t know who we were, what we had done.
And maybe that was the point.
Clara led me to the counter and ordered two drinks before turning back to me. “When was the last time you had fun?”
I blinked. “I... don’t know?”
She smirked. “Exactly.”
I shook my head, but I took the drink when she pushed it into my hand.
She clinked her glass against mine. “To new beginnings.”
I hesitated, but then, with a slow exhale, I nodded. “To new beginnings.”
The alcohol burned down my throat, warm and sharp, but I barely noticed.
Because Clara was smiling at me.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled back.
It started with a song.
Something familiar, something from before, something that made Clara’s eyes light up in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks.
She grabbed my hand without warning, pulling me toward the small, makeshift dance floor in the back of the bar.
I resisted at first. “Clara—”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop thinking.”
And then her arms were around me.
And I wasn’t thinking anymore.
The music pulsed, slow and steady, as she moved against me, her body fitting against mine in a way that felt effortless. Natural.
My heart pounded.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
But when she leaned in, her lips close to my ear, whispering something I didn’t quite catch over the music, I realized—
I didn’t care.
I pulled her closer, my fingers trailing down her spine, memorizing the warmth of her skin even through the thin fabric of her shirt.
She tilted her head back, looking up at me with a gaze that was unreadable and yet somehow said everything.
“Bela...”
My name had never sounded like that before.
And then, before I could stop myself, before I could convince myself that this was a mistake—
I kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed, or desperate.
It was slow. Deliberate.
Like the kind of kiss that meant something.
And that terrified me.
Because it did mean something.
It meant everything.
We stumbled back to the apartment just before dawn, breathless and laughing in a way that didn’t feel wrong for the first time in so long.
Clara’s fingers were tangled in mine, her body pressed against me as we climbed the stairs, her lips still swollen from our last kiss.
I couldn’t believe this was real.
That we had actually let ourselves have this.
And yet, when we reached the door, reality hit me like a freight train.
Because Evelyn was standing there, her laptop in hand, her expression grim.
She didn’t have to say anything.
I already knew.
The past wasn’t done with us yet.
Evelyn exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “We have a problem.”
Marcelo appeared from the hallway, looking just as tense. “A big one.”
Clara straightened, suddenly sober. “What is it?”
Evelyn hesitated. Then, finally, she turned the laptop toward us.
I barely registered the text on the screen before my stomach dropped.
It was a surveillance photo.
Of us.
Of the kiss.
Richard might have been dead, but his reach wasn’t.
Someone was still watching.
Someone still wanted to use us against each other.
And just like that, the illusion of safety shattered.
Clara inhaled sharply beside me, her fingers tightening around mine.
I swallowed hard.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.