The cold night air crept through the cracks of the safehouse, carrying with it an eerie stillness. Elena sat by the window, staring out into the darkness. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and determination. No matter how many times Damien reassured her, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
"Can't sleep?" Damien's voice broke through her thoughts.
She turned to see him leaning against the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair slightly disheveled. He looked tired but no less composed, his presence a calming force in her chaotic world.
"Not really," she admitted, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket draped over her lap. "Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces."
Damien crossed the room in a few strides and knelt beside her, his hand resting gently on her knee. "You're safe here, Elena. I've made sure of it."
"I know," she said, her voice trembling. "But for how long? They're not going to stop, Damien. They'll keep coming."
"Then we'll keep fighting," he said, his tone firm. "I won't let them take you. Or our child."
Her gaze softened at his words, and she reached out to touch his face, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You can't carry this alone, Damien. Let me help."
"You are helping," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Just by being here."
She wanted to believe him, but the weight of their situation was suffocating. "I'm so scared," she whispered.
"I know," Damien said, pulling her into his arms. "But I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I swear it."
For a moment, she allowed herself to relax against him, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the shadows. But the faintest creak outside the window snapped her back to reality.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered, pulling back slightly.
Damien stiffened, his body immediately on high alert. "Stay here," he said, his voice low and commanding.
"What is it?" she asked, her heart racing.
"Probably nothing," he said, though his sharp gaze betrayed his doubt. "Just stay out of sight."
He rose and moved toward the window, his movements silent and calculated. Elena's breath caught as he peered out into the night, his hand resting on the gun holstered at his side.
The silence stretched on, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Then, Damien stepped back, his expression grim.
"We're not alone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Elena's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"
"Someone's out there," Damien said, his eyes scanning the room. "And they're watching us."
Within seconds, Damien had Marcus on the line. "We've got movement outside the safehouse," he said, his tone clipped. "I need eyes on the perimeter."
"On it," Marcus replied. "Hold tight. Reinforcements are ten minutes out."
Damien hung up and turned to Elena, his expression unreadable. "We need to move. Now."
She nodded, adrenaline coursing through her as she followed him to the back of the safehouse. He led her down a narrow staircase to a hidden basement, the air damp and cold.
"This will buy us time," he said, securing the door behind them. "Stay here while I handle this."
"No," Elena said, her voice trembling but resolute. "I'm not letting you go out there alone."
"Elena," Damien began, but she cut him off.
"Damien, I can't lose you," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "Not now. Not ever."
His expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. "You won't lose me," he said, his voice filled with quiet intensity. "But I need you to stay safe. For me. For us."
She hesitated, her fear warring with her trust in him. Finally, she nodded, her hands clutching his shirt as if to anchor him to her. "Be careful."
"I will," Damien promised, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before slipping out of the room.
The basement felt colder without Damien's presence, and Elena's nerves frayed with every passing second. She strained to hear any sign of what was happening above, but the thick walls muffled all sound.
Then, faintly, she heard it—a scuffle, followed by a muffled shout. Her breath hitched as panic clawed at her chest. She couldn't just sit here while Damien faced danger alone.
Grabbing the nearest object—a heavy wrench—she crept toward the door. Her heart pounded as she eased it open, the dim light of the safehouse casting long shadows on the staircase. She moved quietly, her grip on the wrench tightening.
As she reached the top of the stairs, she froze. Damien was standing in the living room, his gun trained on a man kneeling on the floor, his hands bound behind his back. Blood dripped from the man's nose, and his eyes burned with defiance.
"Who sent you?" Damien demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.
The man smirked, spitting blood onto the floor. "You'll find out soon enough."
Damien's jaw tightened, and he pressed the barrel of the gun against the man's temple. "You don't want to test me."
Elena stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Damien."
His head snapped toward her, his eyes flashing with surprise and anger. "Elena, I told you to stay—"
"I couldn't just wait," she said, her voice steadier now. "Who is he?"
"A scout," Damien said, his tone clipped. "Sent to gather intel. Which means more are coming."
The man laughed, the sound chilling. "You think you can stop them? You're already dead, Blackwell. You just don't know it yet."
Damien's expression darkened, but before he could respond, Marcus's voice came through the comm. "Boss, we've got company. Five vehicles, heading your way."
Elena's stomach dropped, and Damien turned to her, his expression grim. "We're out of time."