I didn't sleep.

I couldn't.

Maybe it was the storm's fading grumble outside. Maybe it was the man lying in my bed, an heir turned fugitive, an empire's most dangerous secret curled under my thrift-store blanket. Maybe it was the too-still air, thick with fear and adrenaline and something warmer I refused to name.

Or maybe it was his voice, still echoing inside my skull.

The men who want me dead don't walk away from unfinished work.

The storm eventually died, but the tension didn't.

Hours blurred past in the dim glow of my bedside lamp, the only light in the room. Shadows stretched long and restless across the cracked walls. My chair creaked every time I moved, which wasn't often. My body was stiff, eyelids heavy, but my mind wired like someone had plugged me into a live current. Sleep must have been too scared to come near my room tonight, not with all the tension and Cassian's ragged breathing filling the darkness.

He looked almost peaceful now.

Almost.

Because even unconscious, Cassian Cavanaugh was a storm contained in skin.

His jaw was clenched. His fist curled and uncurled against the sheets. Once, his lips parted like he was whispering something, some nightmare name or memory.

He wasn't sleeping.

He was surviving.

Again.

I wrapped the thin blanket tighter around me, exhaustion dragging at my bones, but I refused to close my eyes.

At some point while my thoughts drifted, his voice sliced through the haze.

"You're still awake."

My head snapped up. His eyes were open now, fixed on me through the dim light.

"So are you," I said.

"Sleep isn't an option." His voice was rough stone, scraped raw.

"Because of the pain?"

His eyes flickered with something darker. "Because of the ghosts."

A cold ripple slid across my skin. "Yeah," I murmured. "I know the feeling."

He studied me for a long beat, and I had the unsettling sense he was seeing more than I wanted to show.

"You should rest," he said finally.

"So should you."

"Can't afford to."

We fell into silence again, but it felt different now. Charged. Like the air before lightning strikes.

I must have drifted despite myself, because the next thing I felt was cold. Cold crawling up my spine, cold pressing against my skin, cold whispering wake up.

Cassian was sitting upright.

Not fully steady, but alert. Watching the window.

His shoulders were rigid. His breathing slow and controlled. A predator listening for footsteps.

My blood iced. "Cassian?"

"Don't move," he breathed.

I froze.

His eyes flicked toward the window again. The streetlamp outside cast the faintest reflection on the glass, just enough light to catch the shape of something dark.

A shadow.

Long.

Tall.

Moving.

Then headlights cut across the cracked blinds.

Not a passing car.

Not a neighbor.

A black SUV idled on the street directly beneath my window.

The same model that had stalked us before.

"What—"

"Down," Cassian rasped, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to the floor just as a door creaked open outside.

My heart hammered against my ribs hard enough to bruise.

"They found me," he whispered.

"How?" My voice was barely air.

He shot me a look like I was some novice. "When you're dealing with the Cavanaughs, even the walls have ears."

A sharp click echoed from outside the apartment door.

Soft.

Deliberate.

A lock pick.

Panic surged. "Cassian, we have to move."

He nodded once, but when he tried to stand, his legs buckled. He caught the bed, breath hissing through clenched teeth.

Damn it.

I hooked an arm under his and hauled him up. "Come on."

"We don't have time," he grit out.

"We're making time."

Another click. The doorknob jiggled.

And then a muffled voice on the other side: "She's got him. Door's cheap. Kick it."

Oh hell no.

I spun toward the window. "Fire escape," I whispered.

Cassian didn't argue.

I shoved the window up, rain-slick air rushing in. The fire escape creaked under my foot.

"Go," I breathed.

Cassian gripped the sill, muscles trembling, but forced himself through.

I followed and pulled the window down just as the apartment door exploded inward behind us.

The fire escape groaned as we moved.

Down one level.

Then another.

But before we reached the second-floor landing, a light flicked on inside the neighboring apartment. A face appeared at the window.

Mr. Helman.

The most gossip-hungry man in the building.

His eyes widened when he saw Cassian.

"Oh my God," he gasped. "That's... that's the... that billionaire on TV! The missing one! The—"

Cassian stiffened.

I lunged forward. "Mr. Helman, please—"

"How much is this worth?" he whispered, eyes darting between us. "News outlets would—"

Cassian's voice cut through like a blade. "Ten thousand."

My eyes widened. That was my entire salary in a year.

Mr. Helman's eyes gleamed. "Cash?"

"Tomorrow," Cassian said. "You keep your mouth shut, you get your money. You speak, you don't."

It wasn't a threat.

It was a promise.

Mr. Helman swallowed hard. Then flipped the latch and opened the window.

"Come through," he whispered.

We climbed inside.

Chaos followed.

Footsteps thundered on the fire escape above us. Voices barked orders. Someone kicked my door again, furious, searching, certain we were still inside.

Mr. Helman paced frantically. "They're going to tear this place apart! You owe me that money!"

"You'll get it," Cassian said sharply. "Where's your back exit?"

"There." He pointed at the hallway. "Stairs lead to the alley. Go."

Cassian swayed when he turned. Too pale. Too weak. But he kept moving.

I followed him out, but behind us, Mr. Helman whispered something that made my stomach drop.

"If he doesn't pay fast enough... maybe someone else will."

My blood ran cold.

But Cassian didn't hear him. Or pretended he didn't.

We pushed into the hallway, slipped down the stairs, and burst into the alley behind the building.

The SUV was still out front.

But the alley was clear.

For now.

"We need cover," Cassian rasped.

I scanned the street and realized only one place was close enough, empty enough, forgotten enough.

The laundromat.

"Come on." I grabbed his arm. "This way."

The door creaked as we slipped inside.

Dim flickering lights. The hum of broken machines. The smell of detergent and damp and old metal.

Cassian leaned against a washer, breath trembling. Sweat rolled down his neck despite the cold.

"You shouldn't have brought me," he muttered.

"You'd be dead if I hadn't," I shot back. "Sit."

He dropped onto a cracked plastic bench, the same one Nova had stitched him on hours earlier.

His eyes were too unfocused. His skin too clammy.

"You're bleeding again," I whispered.

He looked down. A dark blotch spread beneath his bandages.

"Damn." He pressed a hand to his ribs.

"Cassian—"

He didn't get the chance to answer.

Not before the door slammed open behind us.

Hard.

Violent.

The sound ripped through the room like a gunshot.

Cassian pushed me behind him on instinct, but he could barely stand.

The silhouette in the doorway stepped into the flickering light.

Not just one silhouette.

Three.

Guns drawn.

Faces cold.

Then another pair of footsteps entered, and my stomach sank.

Mr. Helman.

Hands up. Eyes wide. Excited.

And greedy.

"He's here," he said breathlessly. "He said he'd pay me, but you pay much better—"

A fist smashed into his face mid-sentence.

He toppled, blood spraying onto the tile.

The man who hit him turned his gun toward Cassian.

"There you are," he sneered. "Mr. Cavanaugh. Your brother sends his regards."

Cassian forced himself to straighten, weak and bleeding but unbroken.

"Tell him he should've come himself."

"Oh, he will," the man replied. "After we're done softening you up."

He raised the gun.

And fired.

The sound was deafening.

Cassian shoved me sideways, the bullet slamming into the washer where my head had been.

I crashed to the floor, pain exploding up my arm.

Cassian lunged at the shooter, but he was too weak, too slow. Another man grabbed him from behind and slammed him into a machine.

The third aimed his gun directly at his ribs.

"No!" I screamed.

Cassian's eyes locked onto mine for a fraction of a second.

A silent apology.

A silent run.

I didn't run.

I grabbed the nearest thing, a metal laundry basket, and hurled it at the gunman.

It missed him by inches but shifted his focus to me.

For a heartbeat, chaos reigned.

Cassian slammed his head backward into the man holding him.

The gunman swung at me, missed, and crashed into a dryer.

The third cursed, grabbing his fallen weapon.

"Enough!" he snarled.

He aimed.

I scrambled behind a row of machines, heartbeat in my throat.

Cassian staggered toward me, bleeding heavily, legs shaking, but refusing to fall.

"Stay down," he rasped.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You already risked your life once. I won't let you do it again."

A gun cocked.

We both turned.

The shooter's face twisted into a smirk.

"Say goodnight, Cavanaugh."

He fired.

Cassian moved with swift military precision. He was trained for this moment. He shoved me away.

The bullet tore into his side.

He collapsed.

And I screamed.

Not a small sound.

A sound that filled the laundromat.

Filled the world.

Filled every corner of who I was and who I would ever be.

"Cassian!"

He didn't move.

Blood pooled beneath him, too dark, too fast.

The gunman stepped forward to finish the job.

"Let's send his brother a picture."

He aimed at Cassian's head.

My breath froze.

My fingers closed around the abandoned gun on the floor.

I stood.

The shooter froze when he saw me holding the weapon.

"You," he snarled. "Stupid girl—"

I didn't give him time to finish.

I cocked the gun with trembling fingers.

And aimed it straight at his face.

"Step away from him," I whispered.

My hand didn't shake.

My voice didn't crack.

I had never shot a gun in my life.

But in that moment?

I would've pulled the trigger without blinking.

He hesitated, just enough.

But too late.

Behind him, the laundromat's front door burst inward again.

This time, not with enemies.

With Nova.

Gun drawn.

Eyes blazing.

"Everyone drop everything!" she roared.

The room exploded into motion.

Men swore.

Shots rang out.

Nova dove behind a washer.

I rushed to Cassian, dragging him behind the row of machines.

He groaned, faint and pained, but alive.

"Stay with me," I whispered. "Cassian, look at me. Stay with me."

He forced his eyes open, unfocused but determined.

"Nora..."

"I've got you," I breathed. "I swear—"

A bullet struck the machine above our heads, sparks raining down.

Nova shouted something I couldn't hear over the chaos.

Cassian's hand found mine, weak and trembling but refusing to let go.

And then the gunfire stopped.

A heavy silence fell.

Too heavy.

I peeked over the machine, only to see one of the gunmen aiming directly at us from across the room.

He smirked.

“Round two.”

He pulled the trigger.

And everything went black.