And for the first time, you see something softer than discipline in her eyes.
Something human.
Something that scares her.
“It is,” she says quietly, “because you’re not just moving me. You’re moving him too.”
You blink.
“Me?” you echo.
Eleanor’s gaze flicks to Agent Price, then back to you.
“Marco,” she says, choosing her words carefully, “you’re now a liability.”
The word hits like a slap.
A liability.
All you did was be kind.
And somehow kindness became evidence.
Agent Price folds his arms.
“They already started digging into you,” he says. “If they connect you to her, they’ll use you.”
Clara’s voice drops to a whisper.
“Or they’ll punish you,” she says.
Your hands curl into fists.
“So what, I just… disappear?” you ask. “Leave my job? My landlord? My life?”
Eleanor’s expression softens, just a fraction.
“We can relocate you,” she says. “New name. New city. We’ll compensate you.”
Compensate.
Like your life is a broken part they can replace.
You look at Clara.
She looks back at you.
And in that stare you realize the real truth.
For eight months, you thought you were saving her.
But the world she comes from is the kind that breaks people for breakfast.
If anything, she was hiding in your kindness like it was the only safe house left.
That evening, they put you both into another vehicle, this time with more security than feels sane.
The city lights smear across the glass like paint.
You’re silent for a long time, until Clara finally speaks.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
You let out a breath.
“For what?” you ask.
“For letting you believe I was helpless,” she replies. “It wasn’t fair.”
You stare at your hands.
They still have oil in the creases, a reminder of your old life clinging like stubborn dirt.
“You weren’t helpless,” you say slowly. “You were hiding.”
Clara nods.
“From monsters,” she says.
You swallow.
“Did you ever…” you begin, then stop, embarrassed by your own hope.
Clara’s eyes shift to you.
“Did I ever what?” she asks.
You force the words out.
“Did you ever… look forward to it?” you ask. “The breakfast.”
Her mouth trembles, barely.
And then she says something that cracks you open cleanly.
“It was the only part of my day that didn’t feel like war,” she whispers.
Your throat tightens.
You blink hard, staring at the dark outside so you don’t have to show your face.
You’ve spent your whole life believing you’re ordinary, replaceable, forgettable.
And now a woman built for battle is telling you your coffee was her peace treaty.
They bring you to a safehouse on the edge of the city, plain on the outside, fortified on the inside.
Two agents stand guard in the hallway, and you realize you haven’t been alone for a full day.
It’s exhausting.
It’s also terrifying, because you keep thinking of your shop, your tools, your unfinished transmission job, your old life sitting there like an abandoned car.
Clara sits at the small kitchen table, staring at a cup of tea she doesn’t drink.
You watch her in the harsh light and see how thin she is beneath the coat.
Not street-thin, but stress-thin, survival-thin, the kind of thin that comes from carrying a secret too heavy for one spine.
“You should sleep,” you say.
She shakes her head.
“If I sleep, I dream,” she answers.
You nod, understanding too well even without her story.
You pull two mugs from the cabinet and make coffee, the smell filling the room like an old memory.
When you set one in front of her, her eyes widen slightly, and for a second she looks like the woman under the church again.
“You remembered,” she says quietly.
You shrug.
“It’s what I do,” you reply.
Clara wraps her hands around the warm mug, and her shoulders drop just a little.
Then she looks at you, serious again.
“They’ll come,” she says. “Not tonight, maybe, but soon. Conrad doesn’t let loose ends exist.”
You lean back in the chair, heart pounding.
“What do they want from you?” you ask.
Clara’s voice lowers.
“I have proof,” she says. “A drive. Names. Payments. Tech transfers. Enough to destroy him.”
You exhale slowly.
“Then why not just hand it over?” you ask.
Agent Price’s voice answers from the doorway.
“Because the system is compromised,” he says. “And because the moment it moves, Conrad will know.”
Clara’s gaze hardens.
“And he’ll kill whoever he has to,” she adds.
Your palms sweat.
“So what happens now?” you ask.
Eleanor steps into view, her face unreadable.
“Now,” she says, “we bait him.”
You sit up.
“With what?”
Eleanor looks at you.
Then at Clara.
Then back at you again, and the air turns sharp.
“With you,” she says.
Your stomach flips.
“No,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Agent Price lifts a hand.
“We’re not throwing you to wolves,” he says. “We’re using what he already noticed.”
Clara stands so fast her chair scrapes.
“Over my dead body,” she snaps.
The room goes quiet again, the kind of quiet that proves she still carries rank even without a uniform.
Eleanor’s eyes soften, but she doesn’t back down.
“Clara,” she says, “he’s already in danger. We’re choosing whether that danger has control or chaos.”
Clara’s jaw clenches.
You look between them, trying to understand the chessboard you didn’t consent to join.
“What does ‘bait’ mean?” you ask, voice tight.
