Details Matter.

Sage

The apartment door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through the dim space like punctuation on another adrenaline-laced night. I kicked off my boots, tugged off the blood-splattered hoodie, and let it fall to the floor without a second thought. The weight of the night hung on me like a second skin, sticky and cold, but all I wanted, no, needed was comfort. Naomi was already curled up on the couch, flipping through channels like it mattered. It didn’t. Not when I had him on my mind. I dropped onto the cushions and flopped sideways, letting my head land in her lap like a child seeking warmth.

"Well hello to you too," she muttered with a soft grin, shifting beneath me to get comfortable. Her fingers automatically found their way to my hair, threading through the strands with familiar ease. "How’s your little boyfriend today?"

I sighed. Heavy. Long. The kind that carried all the things I could never say out loud.

"He’s so perfect. He looked at me tonight."

Naomi paused mid-stroke. "Like looked at you looked at you?" Her voice tilted upward in disbelief.

I sat up a little, just enough to meet her eyes with mine. "Like… across the room. I was in a dark corner, and my face was covered, but I know. Our eyes locked, and I felt it again."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t mock me, at least not harshly. "That feeling you had the first time he looked at you?"

"Yes!" I threw my hands up, then dragged them down my face like I could wipe away the electricity still buzzing under my skin. "That stupid, soul-splitting thing that made me fall in love before I even knew his name."

Naomi snorted. "Obsessed. You are a full-blown stalker." But her words were teasing, not cruel. She understood. She’d seen what I went through. She knew what I’d lost. I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t.

"It’s not just that. It’s him. He’s... safe. Strong. He makes people shut up just by walking into a room and when he looked at me, even in a crowd of monsters, I felt seen. I haven’t felt like that since..."

My voice trailed off. No need to finish the sentence. Naomi knew the name I didn’t speak. Yakov. Naomi and I were bound by the same fate, the same ruler, the same torture. My stomach twisted at the thought of him, that filthy shadow still chasing me through every locked door and every sleepless night. But Conner? He made that shadow shrink. He was the only light I trusted. My gaze drifted toward the ceiling, like I could still see him, still feel the heat of his eyes through the mask, the noise, the distance.

"He saved my life that night, Nai. Three years ago. He didn’t even know it. Just walked in, killed the right man, and changed everything. I’ve been trying to repay him ever since."

Naomi's fingers paused in my hair. "By... breaking into his home and leaving severed hands in boxes?"

I gave her a deadpan look. "They were gifts."

"Sure they were." She rolled her eyes and leaned back, letting me settle again.

"One day," I whispered. "When I'm finally ready... When Yakov is dead. When the others are gone. When it’s safe for him to love me back. Until then... I’ll keep protecting him. He doesn’t have to know. Not yet."

Naomi didn’t reply at first. Her fingers just moved gently through my hair, steady and quiet like she was soothing a wild animal. Maybe she was.

"You’re gonna ruin him, you know," she finally said softly, her voice a breath against the hum of the TV in the background.

I closed my eyes, a faint smile tugging at my lips like it had been waiting for permission.

"Only if he lets me."

She didn’t argue. We both knew I wasn’t wrong.

When Naomi finally got up and retreated to her bedroom, her door clicking shut behind her, the apartment settled into its usual silence. I waited a beat, then moved. From the duffel bag I’d tossed near the door, I pulled out the black container. Still warm inside was a thick slice of lasagna I’d made earlier today. I microwaved it without ceremony, the artificial hum filling the kitchen as I moved to the scuffed table in the corner and flipped open my laptop. Four screens lit up. I entered my encrypted passwords, bypassed the fake firewalls I'd planted in case someone ever came snooping, and within seconds, his world was mine.

Every camera angle. Every microphone. Every whisper. He never saw me, but I was always there. I leaned back as I slipped in my earbuds, fingers dancing over keys with practiced ease, syncing the bugs I’d planted weeks ago through my secondary app. His voice filtered through, low, gruff, tired. Kitchen chair scraping. A soft sigh. The security cameras in his house weren’t the only ones I had access to. He’d upgraded recently, probably on advice from one of his men, but it didn’t matter. I’d already mapped out the new ones. I watched as he sat down at the kitchen table, shirt sleeves rolled up, brown hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it one too many times. There was tension in his shoulders, but he was safe. For now. And on the table in front of him, half-finished, my lasagna.

"Good boy," I whispered, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips. I watched him take another bite, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin he didn’t realize matched the ones I used. I’d chosen it on purpose. Details matter. He didn’t know it yet, but I was always feeding him, always keeping him just a little safer, a little stronger. Just until I could be his without the shadows following me. Without the ghosts. I switched screens. One of Yakov’s men had been spotted three blocks down from Conner’s territory earlier this evening. Sloppy. I’d already flagged the car and rerouted a message to make it look like a job offer from a rival. He’d take the bait tomorrow, and then I’d handle it. Quietly. Permanently. Conner didn’t need to get blood on his hands, not for this. That’s what I was for. I leaned in, watching his face again.

"Sleep soon," I murmured. "You’ve got that meeting at the docks tomorrow. I already cleared the route. You’ll be fine."

Another bite. Another breath. Another heartbeat. I finished the lasagna slowly, watching him like a devotional ritual. Not out of hunger, but to match him. A shadow in rhythm with his pulse. And as I shut the laptop sometime after midnight, wiping down my fork and tucking it back into the drawer like I always did, I paused at the window. Staring out into the dark city.

He didn’t know it yet, but he was already mine. And when the time came, when the blood stopped running, and the past was buried beneath the bodies of the men who tried to keep us apart, I’d let him love me back.