Chapter 13
They waited for three hours in the dark, letting Marcus's men tear the upper floors apart, believing they were trapped beneath the rubble. When the vibrations from above finally ceased, Julian moved to the eastern wall. He pressed a sequence into a hidden keypad behind a medical supply cabinet.
With a heavy groan of grinding gears, a section of the concrete wall slid open, revealing a dark, damp tunnel that smelled of salt water and algae.
"This runs directly to Pier 42," Julian explained, grabbing a duffel bag of weapons and cash he kept stashed in the clinic. Victor, heavily bandaged and limping on a makeshift crutch, followed close behind. Samson took the lead, his nose twitching at the damp air.
They emerged into the freezing Seattle night, hidden beneath the rotting pilings of an abandoned dock. The black water of the Puget Sound lapped against the wood.
Julian pulled out a burner phone and dialed a number from memory. "It's me," he said into the receiver. "Prep the safehouse. I need a clean car at the pier in ten minutes."
The safehouse was a modest, unassuming cabin hidden deep in the dense forests of the Olympic Peninsula, two hours outside the city. It was off the grid, unlisted, and heavily fortified.
Once inside, the adrenaline crash hit them all. Victor collapsed onto a couch, immediately passing out from blood loss and exhaustion. Julian locked the heavy reinforced doors and began checking the perimeter security feeds on a monitor in the corner.
Clara stood in the center of the rustic living room, staring at the fire Julian had hastily built in the hearth. The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. She felt entirely unmoored. Her life in Blackwood Reach was gone. Her brother's memory had been violently rewritten. And she was hiding in a cabin with a crime lord.
Julian walked over to her, carrying a blanket. He draped it over her shoulders, mirroring the exact gesture from the clock shop.
"You did good tonight," Julian said softly, his voice dropping the harsh edge it usually carried. "You saved Victor's life. You didn't panic."
Clara looked up at him. Without the tailored suits and the imposing office, he just looked like a tired man carrying the weight of a violent world.
"I'm tired of running, Julian," Clara whispered, the exhaustion finally breaking her voice. "I spent seven years running from what happened to Elias. I won't do it anymore."
May you like
Julian reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, wiping away a streak of dirt and blood. "You don't have to run anymore, Clara. I'm going to burn Marcus to the ground."
The distance between them vanished. Julian leaned in, and Clara didn't pull away. The kiss was desperate, tasting of smoke, copper, and unspoken promises. It wasn't a transaction. It was a collision of two people who understood exactly how broken the other was, and chose to hold on anyway.
