Chapter 2 Two

SERA'S POV

Mia dropped her mug, and it shattered across the kitchen tiles.

"He what?"

"Shh!" I grabbed her wrist and yanked her down beside me on the floor, away from the window. The lights were off. Only the glow of the streetlamp slipped through the blinds. "Keep your voice down."

"Sera, your dad sold you." Mia's whisper cracked in the middle. Her fingers were ice-cold in mine. "Like a couch."

"Not a couch. A debt."

"That's worse!"

It was. I knew it was. My whole body kept shaking in little waves, as if I'd swallowed a live wire. I tucked my knees to my chest and bit the inside of my cheek until it stung.

Mia stared at me for three heartbeats. Then her eyes went wide and fierce.

"We run. Tonight. I'll pack your bag, you grab your passport, and we're gone before sunrise."

"They'd find us in a day."

"We'd be fast."

"Mia." I swallowed. "They'd find Noah, too."

That shut her up.

My phone lay on the tiles between us. The screen lit up with a photo from last summer: Noah, squinting into the sun, a lopsided paper crown on his head from my birthday cake. He was laughing at something off-camera.

I stared at it until my eyes burned.

Then I flipped the phone face down, and the kitchen went dark again.

---

By morning, my hands had stopped working properly.

The bakery was warm and loud, trays clanging, the oven fan roaring. I rolled out croissant dough with a rolling pin that felt twice as heavy as usual. Fold. Turn. Fold. My mind drifted off somewhere between Friday and bullet.

The smell hit me first.

Burnt butter. Sharp and bitter.

"Sera!" Gina, my boss, whipped around with a towel over her shoulder. "The croissants!"

I yanked the oven door open. Smoke poured out in a gray cloud. Twelve perfect croissants, now twelve little black bricks.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'll remake them."

"In seven years, you've never burned anything." Gina's eyes dropped to my hands. They were trembling so badly the tray rattled against the rack. Her voice softened. "Honey. What's wrong?"

Everything.

"Just tired." I forced a laugh that sounded like a hiccup. "Late night."

She didn't believe me. She let it go anyway and patted my shoulder before heading back to the counter.

I dumped the ruined tray into the trash. Then I wiped my palms on my apron, over and over, and glanced out the shop window just to breathe.

That's when I saw the car.

It sat across the street, long and glossy and black as a hole in the world. Engine idling. Windows tinted so dark they swallowed the morning light.

My stomach dropped through the floor.

Slowly, the back window slid down. Only halfway. Only enough to show a pair of eyes.

Dark. Steady. Completely unbothered.

He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just looked at me, through the glass, across a busy street, like I was the only thing in the city worth looking at.

One second. Two. My lungs forgot how to work. Five. The rolling pin slid from my fingers and thudded onto the counter, and I didn't even flinch. Seven. A cold sweat crawled down my spine. Ten.

The window slid shut.

The car rolled away without a sound.

I stood there, gripping the edge of the counter, my heart slamming so hard it hurt.

That was him.

I didn't need a name. I knew.

---

DANTE'S POV

One finger. Tap. Tap. Tap against my knee.

"Is that her, boss?" Luca asked from the driver's seat, eyes on the mirror.

"That's her."

"She doesn't look like much."

"No." I watched the bakery shrink in the rear window. A small shop. A girl in a flour-streaked apron, standing frozen behind the glass with her fingers white against the counter. "She burned something this morning."

Luca frowned. "How do you know?"

"Smoke on the window. And she was holding the trash can like she wanted to hide it."

I let the words sit.

She was afraid. Good. Fear kept people alive. Fear made them careful. I'd built an empire on it, and I felt nothing about adding one more name to the list.

So why couldn't I stop seeing her hands?

They'd been shaking. But her chin had stayed up.

"Drive," I said.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

---

SERA'S POV

"Surprise!"

I almost screamed.

Noah stood at the bakery counter that afternoon with a paper cup in one hand and a tiny paper flower in the other, folded from a napkin, crooked and a little crushed. His grin was so wide it made my chest ache.

"Caramel latte, extra foam, and a flower I made during Anatomy." He held both out like treasures. "The professor was not amused."

I took the cup. My fingers brushed his, and all of a sudden I couldn't hold myself together.

I threw my arms around his neck.

I hugged him too hard, and too long. His chest was warm, and his heartbeat thudded steadily against my cheek. He smelled like soap and coffee and every safe place I'd ever known.

Noah went stiff, then softer. His arms wrapped around my back.

"Sera?" His voice was low and worried. "Hey. What's wrong?"

Don't tell him. Don't tell him. Don't tell him.

Hot tears slid down my face and soaked into his shirt. I couldn't stop them. My shoulders shook, and my fingers dug into his jacket as if he might evaporate if I let go.

"Hold me," I whispered. "Please. Just hold me."

And he did. He didn't ask again. He just pressed his lips to my hair and held on.

I didn't see the black car parked at the end of the block.

I didn't see the man in the passenger seat lift a camera.

Click.

---

That night, I unlocked my apartment door with a hand that wouldn't stop trembling.

Mia was out. The place felt too quiet. I kicked off my shoes, flicked on the lamp, and nearly stepped on it.

A plain white envelope lay on the floor, just inside the door.

No name. No stamp. It had been slid right under.

My mouth went dry. My heart began to pound, slow and heavy, like footsteps coming closer.

I knelt down. Picked it up. The paper felt thick and cold.