Chapter 97
Evelyn's POV
We ended up on the couch again, my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around me while some mindless action movie played on the TV. It should have felt strange—this domestic intimacy with a man who'd started as my adversary, who'd threatened to expose me, who'd seen the worst parts of me and somehow decided to stay anyway.
But it didn't feel strange. It felt right in a way nothing else in my life ever had.
We sat in silence for a while, both of us thinking through the implications of what came next. Martin would make another move—we both knew it. The only question was when, and whether we'd be ready.
I looked at the shopping bags still scattered by the door, at the burgundy dress that represented everything I'd been afraid to claim. Then I looked at Julian, at the man who'd somehow become the center of my carefully controlled world in the span of a few short weeks.
He'd seen everything. The weapons, the fake passports, the surveillance equipment. He knew about the twenty-nine people I'd killed, about Vorkuta, about the organization that still had its hooks in me. And he was still here, still holding me, still promising tomorrow like it was something we could actually have.
I'd spent years learning how to survive alone. Learning that trust was a liability, that connections were weaknesses, that the only person I could rely on was myself.
But maybe—just maybe—I'd been wrong.
"Julian?" My voice came out quieter than I'd intended.
"Mm?" He didn't open his eyes, just tightened his arms around me slightly.
"There's something I need to do. And I—" I stopped, trying to find the words. "I want you to come with me."
Now he did open his eyes, turning his head to look at me. "What kind of something?"
"The organization—Kholod—they gave me a phone. A dedicated line that only Viktor uses to contact me." I took a breath. "I want to get rid of it. Properly. Not just turn it off or throw it in a drawer, but actually destroy it. Cut that last tie."
Julian was quiet for a moment, and I could see him processing what I was really saying. That phone represented my connection to the organization, to my handler, to the life I'd lived for the past five years. Getting rid of it meant choosing something else. Choosing him. Choosing us.
"Okay," he said simply. "When?"
"Tomorrow. Before the meeting with—" I stopped, realizing. "Before whatever comes next. I want to do this first."
"Where?"
I thought about it. Somewhere significant, somewhere final. "There's a beach in the Rockaways. It's quiet this time of year, not many people. We could drive out there, throw it into the ocean."
"Symbolic," Julian said, and I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine.
"Is that stupid?" I asked. "Making a whole production out of destroying a phone?"
"No." He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. "It's not stupid at all. It's you choosing to let go of something that's kept you trapped. That's not stupid—that's brave."
The word made my chest tighten. Brave. I'd never thought of myself as brave. Trained, yes. Capable, certainly. But brave implied choice, implied facing fear rather than just surviving it.
"I'm terrified," I admitted. "That phone is my only way to contact Viktor if something goes wrong. If the organization comes after me, if they figure out about Caldwell—"
"Then we deal with it. Together." He shifted so he could look at me properly. "You're not alone anymore, Evelyn. You keep saying it, but I don't think you really believe it yet. So let me say it again—you're not alone. Whatever the organization throws at us, we face it together."
I searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all I saw was certainty, that absolute conviction that somehow we could make this work.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Tomorrow morning. We'll drive out to the Rockaways and I'll throw the phone into the ocean."
"And then?"
"And then we come back and wait for Martin to make his move. And we prepare for whatever comes next." I took a breath. "Together."
Julian smiled, and it was soft and genuine and made something in my chest flutter. "Together."
We stayed like that for a while longer, wrapped around each other on the couch while the movie played on unwatched. I thought about the phone hidden in my bedroom, the burner that represented everything I was trying to leave behind. Tomorrow I'd throw it into the Atlantic and watch it sink beneath the waves, taking that part of my life with it.
It should have terrified me more than it did. That phone was my lifeline, my connection to the only world I'd known for five years. Without it, I was cutting myself off from the organization, burning a bridge I could never rebuild.
But with Julian's arms around me and his steady heartbeat beneath my ear, I found I didn't care.
Some bridges were meant to burn.
"We should get some sleep," Julian said eventually, his voice rough with exhaustion. "Long day tomorrow."
"You're staying?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
"Where else would I be?" He stood up, pulling me with him. "Come on. Bed."
I let him lead me to the bedroom, let him pull back the covers and guide me under them. When he climbed in beside me and pulled me against his chest, I didn't resist, didn't put up walls, didn't try to maintain distance.
I just let myself be held.
"Evelyn?" His voice was quiet in the darkness.
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For letting me be part of this. For trusting me enough to—" He stopped, and I felt him take a breath. "It means something. You letting me in. I know it's not easy for you."
"It's terrifying," I admitted. "Every instinct I have is screaming at me that this is a mistake, that I'm making myself vulnerable, that I'm going to regret this."
"And yet you're doing it anyway."
"And yet I'm doing it anyway." I turned in his arms so I could see his face in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Because maybe my instincts have been wrong. Maybe survival isn't the same thing as living. Maybe—"
I stopped, not quite ready to finish that thought. Not quite ready to admit how much he'd come to mean to me in such a short time.
But Julian seemed to understand anyway. He kissed me, soft and sweet and full of promise.
"Get some sleep," he murmured against my lips. "Tomorrow we burn bridges and start fresh."
I closed my eyes and let myself drift, his warmth surrounding me, his steady breathing lulling me toward sleep.
Tomorrow I would throw that phone into the ocean and sever my last tie to the organization. Tomorrow I would choose Julian, choose us, choose the terrifying possibility of something real.
Tonight, I just let myself rest.
For the first time in seven years, I felt safe enough to truly sleep—no nightmares, no hypervigilance, no waking every few hours to check the exits.
Just peace.
And Julian.