The morning was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful but rather like something lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to break.
Clara had fallen asleep with her arm draped over me, her body warm against mine, but when I woke, the space beside me was empty. The sheets were still warm, though, meaning she hadn’t been up for long.
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I listened. The faint sound of running water came from the bathroom, and I exhaled, reassured.
But the feeling of unease remained.
It had been there since last night. Since the message. Since the realization that no matter how far we tried to run from the past, it always found a way to catch up.
I reached for my phone, checking my messages out of instinct. There was nothing new, but that didn’t mean I felt any better.
Someone was out there, watching. Waiting.
And I wasn’t going to let them take us by surprise.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, Clara was already dressed, standing by the stove, flipping eggs onto a plate. She was calm—too calm.
“Morning,” she greeted, turning to flash me a small smile. “I made breakfast.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly, leaning against the counter. “You never make breakfast.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to do something nice.”
I studied her, the way she moved, the way she carefully avoided looking at me for too long.
She knew.
I set my phone down and crossed my arms. “Clara.”
She stilled for just a second before placing the plate on the table. “Eat first.”
I didn’t move. “You saw the message.”
She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment before finally turning to me. “Evelyn told me.”
Of course, she did.
Clara crossed her arms, mirroring my stance. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”
I pressed my lips together. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because pretending nothing is wrong has worked out so well for us in the past.”
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. “I was going to tell you. I just needed to figure out what it meant first.”
Her gaze softened slightly, but she wasn’t letting me off the hook. “And? Do you know what it means?”
“No.” And that was the worst part.
Clara exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “We can’t pretend this isn’t happening, Bela. Someone out there is watching. And I don’t think they’re just trying to scare us.”
I knew she was right.
I just wasn’t ready to admit how much that terrified me.
Evelyn arrived first, her laptop in hand, her expression tense.
Marcelo followed a few minutes later, looking more restless than usual.
“This isn’t just a threat,” Marcelo said, sitting across from me at the table. “It’s a warning.”
I leaned forward. “From who?”
Evelyn tapped a few keys on her laptop. “We traced the message back to an encrypted line. Someone who knows how to cover their tracks.”
“Which means someone with experience,” Clara muttered, arms crossed.
I looked at Marcelo. “Do we know if Richard had any remaining allies?”
Marcelo hesitated. “Most of his men scattered. But there were always rumors of a second-in-command. Someone who handled things when Richard wasn’t around.”
My stomach twisted. “And you think this person is making their move now?”
“It’s possible,” Evelyn said. “We need to be careful. Whoever this is, they’re not just watching for fun. They’re planning something.”
Clara shifted beside me, her hand resting lightly against my thigh. It was subtle, a silent way of keeping me grounded.
“What do we do?” she asked.
Marcelo exhaled. “For now, we watch back. We stay ahead of them.”
It wasn’t much. But it was all we had.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Every sound, every creak of the apartment, had me on edge.
Clara must have sensed it because at some point, she reached for my hand under the covers, squeezing lightly.
“We’re okay,” she whispered.
I wanted to believe her.
I really did.
But then, at 2:47 AM, a noise outside the window shattered that illusion.
I was out of bed in seconds, gun in hand, my heart pounding. Clara followed close behind, whispering, “Bela—” but I wasn’t listening.
I moved to the window, barely breathing as I peered out into the darkened streets below.
At first, I didn’t see anything.
But then...
A figure. Standing across the street. Too far away for me to make out their face, but close enough to know they were watching.
Clara tensed beside me, her grip on my arm tightening.
“Bela,” she whispered.
“I see him.”
The figure didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Just… stood there.
And then, as if sensing we were watching, they lifted their hand—slowly, deliberately—giving a single wave before turning and disappearing into the shadows.
Cold dread crawled up my spine.
They wanted us to know.
This wasn’t just intimidation.
It was a message.
Clara pulled me away from the window, forcing me to look at her. “We need to tell Evelyn.”
I nodded, my mind already racing.
This wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
The next morning, Evelyn called.
“I found something.”
Clara and I were already halfway to her apartment before she could explain further.
Evelyn had papers spread across the desk, documents and photos, maps of the city with certain locations marked in red.
“This is who we’re dealing with,” she said, sliding a single photo toward me.
A man. Late thirties. Sharp features. Cold eyes.
And a name I never thought I’d hear again.
Nikolai Sokolov.
I barely heard Clara’s sharp inhale beside me.
Because all I could hear was the last time I had seen that name—on a list of people Richard had once called his brothers.
The ones who were supposed to be dead.
But clearly, one of them wasn’t.
My grip on the photo tightened.
“He’s not just watching us,” I said quietly.
Clara met my gaze, understanding dawning in her eyes.
“He’s coming for us.”
And this time, we weren’t just going to wait for it to happen.