bChapter /bb328 /b

Jade’s POV:

:

Two days had passed since our confrontation with the Shadow operative with the distinctive mole who had killed Tolosa. Though dispatching him in that market alley couldn’tpletely erase the image of Tolosa’s small body clutching those chocte bars, knowing his killer had paid the price eased some of the heaviness in my heart. A life for a life–the most ancient form of justicei. /i

“I need to wash my hair,‘ I muttered as we reached our new hideout, eyeing the tiny bathroom with its chipped sink.

Ethan followed my gaze. “You shouldn’t bend over with that shoulder wound. It’ll start bleeding again.”

“I’ll manage.”

“No.” His tone left no room for argument. “Lie down on the bed. I’ll help you.”

With a sigh, I settled onto the bed while Ethan gathered supplies–a pitcher, towels, and shampoo he’d picked up at some point during

our escape.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, sliding a towel beneath my head as Iy back.

The warm water felt heavenly as it ran through my hair. His fingers worked methodically, massaging my scalp with just enough pressure.

As he worked, I noticed the fresh scars on his hand–angry red lines crossing his palm where he’d grabbed the knife meant for my throat. My chest tightened.

“It scarred,” I said, reaching up to touch his hand lightly. “Such elegant hands, now ruined.”

Ethan looked down at his damaged palm with casual indifference. “A few scars are nothing for a man.” His lips curved into a slight smile. “If you like my hands bso /bmuch, you can hold this one more often.” He extended his other, unmarked hand toward me.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile.

“What’s the date today?” I asked suddenly.

“The 27th. Why?”

“It’s your birthday.”

Ethan froze, water dripping from his fingers. His expression shifted from surprise to realization. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “Ipletely forgot.”

“Do I get a birthday present?” he asked, resuming his task of rinsing my hair.

“Obviously not,” I replied bluntly.

He didn’t say anything, just continued washing my hair with the same gentle care. When he finished, he wrapped my head in a dry towel and carefully helped me sit up.

10:35 Fri, bOct /b3 M

I sat on the edge of the bed while he stood before me, meticulously drying my hair.

*Jade?”

I looked up instinctively.

Before I could process what was happening, his face was inches from mine, his sculpted features filling my vision. Then his lips pressed against mine–brief, warm, and unexpectedly gentle.

He pulled back slightly, eyes fixed on mine. “I just received my birthday gift. I like it very much. Thank you.” Both presumptuous and polite in the same breath.

I stared at him, speechless. I’d been considering buying him a caketer, some small gesture to reciprocate for the one he’d given mest year. Apparently that wouldn’t be necessary now.

“My birthday wish is for you to stay safe,” he said quietly.

“That’s a waste of a wish.”

“Not to me.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Last year, I wished for you to marry me.”

I blinked. “What?”

“When you stopped me outside your house that night and kissed me-” He paused, his expression unreadable. “In that moment, bI /bwanted a future with you. The thought of marrying you exploded in my mind.”

“And now?” I asked, unsure why I was even pursuing this conversation.

“Now I just want you alive and safe. I still want a future with you–desperately so. Butpared to your safety, everything else feels secondary.”

The intensity in his voice made me look away.

That night, Iy in bed listening to the sound of Ethan showering, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about anything at all. When he emerged, hair damp and wearing only sweatpants, he moved quietly, assuming I was asleep.

I felt the mattress dip as he sat on the edge, watching me. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible. I could sense him studying my face, perhaps wondering what was going through my mind or simply reassuring himself that I was still there, still breathing.

“Mr. Haxton,” I said without opening my eyes, “you’re getting remarkablyfortable with bedtime routines.”

He didn’t startle at my voice. “I’d sleep on the couch, but as you can see, it wouldn’t fit half of me.”

When I didn’t respond, he took it as permission to stay. “Are you cold?”

“Why don’t you just ask if you can hold me while we sleep?” I called out his true intention.

“May I hold you while we sleep?” he asked without hesitation.

10:35 Fri, bOct /bb3 /bM…

I turned onto my side, presenting my back to him. After a moment, he slid under the covers beside me.

“Don’t press on the wound,” he warned.

“Shut up and sleep,” I muttered.

Our “fugitive lifestyle” became surprisingly routine as we waited for bmy /bshoulder to fully heal. We moved through the city like tourists, staying vignt but not panicked.

Today, Ethan followed me into a sprawling music festival, where thousands of bodies provided perfect camouge. The pulsing beat of drums and electronic rhythms vibrated through the air, multicolored lights shing across faces painted with neon patterns. Laughter and chatter blended with the music into a wall of sound–the perfect environment to disappear into.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Ethan observed as we navigated through the crowd. His eyes never stopped scanning, his body positioned slightly in front of mine as if prepared to shield me at any moment.

“Rx,” I told him, noticing his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. “Shadow’s target is me.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “That’s precisely why I can’t rx.”

“I have experience with this,” I replied casually.

“What kind of experience?” His eyes narrowed with curiosity.

I looked up at him, raising an eyebrow yfully. “Take a guess.”

He couldn’t possibly guess the truth. Before we met, I’d spent countless missions being hunted by authorities, military forces, and rival organizations. Eight out of ten assignments involved eliminating high–profile targets, followed by days or weeks of evasion. I’d perfected the art of hiding in in sight, often returning to the scene of my operations while pursuers frantically searched elsewhere.

It was always the same. I’d sit drinking coffee, watching them search for meb, /bpletely oblivious to my presence mere feet away. In my previous life, I’d followed the principle that the most dangerous ce was often the safest. Afterpleting assignments, I’d deliberately mislead my pursuers and then return to locations near the crime scene.

I’d watch from rooftops or cafés as they searched, sometimes savoring a ss of wine while they scrambled below, clueless that their target was observing their futile effortsi. /i

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