BLOOD IN SILK

Cassian hadn't locked the door this time.

That was his mistake.

Alina waited until the early morning shadows slipped through the cracks of the warehouse walls. Cassian had left a single light burning in the hallway—either a threat or a mercy. She didn't care which. She pressed her ear to the door. No footsteps. No voices.

Only silence.

She slipped out barefoot, every step calculated. The corridor stretched long and cold, like something out of a nightmare. She passed crates, shelves, old weapons wrapped in cloth, and then—finally—a side exit. The lock was broken. She didn't waste time wondering why.

She ran.

The cold hit her lungs like knives. She stumbled into a back alley littered with trash and broken glass, the air thick with smoke and the stink of oil. Somewhere, a dog barked. Farther off, shouting.

She didn't stop.

Through the alley. Down the street. Around the corner.

She ran until her legs trembled, until her breath came in ragged gasps. Until she reached lights. Neon, flashing. A diner. Open. She darted inside.

The waitress barely looked up.

Alina slipped into a booth, heart pounding. Her hands shook as she reached for the napkin holder, trying to steady herself.

She was out.

She was free.

So why did it feel worse?

She stared out the window. That's when she noticed it.

A black car. Parked across the street. Engine running.

She tensed.

The door opened, and a man stepped out. Tall. Sunglasses, even in the dark. Then another. She didn't recognize them, but something in her gut twisted.

They weren't Cassian's men.

They were worse.

She slid out of the booth, heading for the back. The kitchen. A door. Anything.

Too late.

One of them stepped in through the front just as she reached the kitchen door. He smiled like a wolf.

"Leaving so soon, sweetheart?"

Alina backed away slowly, hand reaching for something—anything.

A flash of metal glinted behind her.

And then everything blurred.

A gunshot cracked through the diner. The man dropped before he could scream.

Cassian.

He moved like a storm—cold, fast, brutal. The second man turned, but Cassian was already there, slamming him into the glass. It shattered around them. Screams erupted from the kitchen, the waitress ducked behind the counter.

Alina stood frozen.

It was over in seconds.

Both men were down. Cassian stood over them, blood on his knuckles, breath steady.

Then he looked at her.

His eyes weren't cold this time.

They were furious.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled, crossing the floor toward her.

"I was thinking I didn't want to be a prisoner," she snapped back.

"You think I'm your biggest threat?" He gestured to the bodies. "They were sent by your father. You think I didn't recognize the crest on their rings?"

Alina's voice faltered. "That's not possible—he wouldn't—"

"He already did."

Silence swallowed them.

Cassian stared at her, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling.

Then he said it—low, bitter, rough.

"Little flame."

She blinked. "What?"

"That's what I'm calling you now," he said. "You burn everything you touch—even yourself."

Alina looked away, anger and shame twisting deep in her chest.

"I didn't ask to be saved," she whispered.

"No," Cassian said. "But I'm still the only one doing it."

He reached out. Not to hurt her. Just… to make her move.

But Alina stepped toward him before he could. She was shaking.

"I thought I could handle whatever was out there," she said. "I thought I was ready."

"You weren't."

"I know."

He looked at her then—really looked.

And for the first time, she saw it.

Not pity.

Not ownership.

But something dangerously close to fear. Not of her. But for her.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

She didn't resist this time.

And as he led her back into the cold, broken street, one thought echoed louder than the chaos behind them:

Maybe the monster she feared most… was the only one keeping the others at bay.