The pain in Ava's side had dulled to a constant throb, a reminder of how close she had come to bleeding out in the darkened hall of Tremont Freight.
The bandages Marcus had wrapped around her midsection were tight, precise—his hands steady even when his eyes weren't. He hadn't left her side since they'd made it back to the safe house.
Ava sat on the couch, her body aching but her thoughts sharper than ever. Every breath was laced with discomfort, but it wasn't just the wound. It was Nathan. It was Damien. It was the silence Marcus had cloaked himself in since they'd returned.
Marcus stood at the window, watching the gray morning bleed into view. His jaw was locked tight, muscles tense. His shirt was still stained with her blood.
"You haven't slept," Ava said softly.
He turned, eyes haunted. "Neither have you."
She offered him a faint, ironic smile. "You're avoiding me."
Marcus shook his head, walking to her side. "I'm trying not to fall apart. That's not the same."
His voice cracked a little, and she reached for his hand. Their fingers brushed. Warm. Grounding.
"You saved my life," she whispered.
"I almost didn't." His tone darkened. "If I'd been just a second later—"
"But you weren't," she interrupted. "You were right on time. You always are."
Marcus crouched in front of her, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered.
"I couldn't lose you. I wouldn't survive it."
Their eyes locked, the air charged with unspoken truths. She leaned forward slightly, her injury flaring in protest, but she didn't stop.
"What we're doing… chasing Damien… it's not just about Nathan anymore," she said. "It's about us."
He blinked. "Ava—"
She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Don't say anything you'll regret."
"I'm not going to regret anything," he said, voice low. "Except not telling you sooner."
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. Another message. No name, no number.
Marcus took it from her hand before she could react. His thumb unlocked the screen, his face going rigid.
A new image.
Nathan.
But this time, bound to a chair. A strip of duct tape across his mouth. His eyes were wide with terror. Behind him, a monitor displayed the words: Move, and he dies.
And below that—coordinates.
Marcus's voice was cold. "It's a trap."
Ava pushed herself upright with a grimace. "Of course it is. That's how he plays. But we don't have a choice."
"You're still hurt."
"I can walk. I can shoot. That's enough."
He hesitated. Then nodded. "Then we go. But this time, we're not walking into it blind."
They took the unmarked SUV, weapons loaded, tracking gear activated. Marcus's contact at cyber forensics had begun triangulating Damien's location, tracing the signal from the last message.
"Why now?" Ava murmured as they sped through the city. "Why take Nathan if he wasn't going to kill him before?"
"Because you're getting closer," Marcus replied. "You're not the only one breaking apart. Damien's cracking too. He's losing control."
She looked out the window, pain tightening in her side. Her voice barely audible. "Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he wants us to break with him."
Marcus reached over, his hand finding hers again. He squeezed. "I won't let him. Not to you. Not to me. Not to Nathan."
The coordinates led them to the edge of the city. An industrial lot. Overgrown. Deserted. A former power plant long abandoned.
The silence was deafening as they stepped out.
Ava's knees wobbled, but Marcus caught her.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, breath shallow.
"No, you're not," he said. "But you're here. That's what matters."
They moved in tandem, weapons raised, eyes sharp.
Inside the plant, shadows stretched like claws across the cracked concrete. The only sound was the quiet hum of old generators still trying to breathe life into dead machines.
Then—the monitor.
In the center of the room, mounted on a rusted metal stand.
Marcus raised his gun. Ava stepped forward, heart hammering.
The screen flickered.
Damien appeared.
His face filled the frame. Calm. Too calm.
"Detective Sinclair. Agent Vale. You never disappoint," Damien drawled. "I must say, I admire your resilience. Especially yours, Ava. I was almost sure you'd bleed out before morning."
Ava clenched her jaw. "Where is Nathan?"
Damien smiled. "So direct. But if I gave you everything at once, where would the fun be?"
Marcus growled. "Enough games."
"Oh, but it's all a game," Damien replied. "One you're losing."
The screen cut out.
And then—
A door creaked open in the far wall.
Marcus moved fast, leading the way, weapon ready. Ava followed, pain be damned.
They entered a narrow corridor. At the end—a small room. Chains. Blood. A chair.
But no Nathan.
Just another photo.
It showed Nathan—but in a moving vehicle this time. Bound. Gagged. A different location.
Ava's stomach twisted.
"He moved him again," she said. "He knew we'd come."
Marcus punched the wall, knuckles splitting. "He's running us in circles."
Then Ava noticed it. Written on the back of the photo.
Every second counts. Look where it all began.
Her breath caught. "The first victim."
Marcus's eyes met hers. "The old chapel."
They didn't waste time.
As they raced back to the SUV, Ava leaned her head against the window, body trembling.
"You okay?" Marcus asked.
"No," she admitted. "But I will be. If we find Nathan."
His hand found hers again. "We will. And when we do, this ends."
The old chapel sat on the city's edge. Forgotten by time. It was where Ava had found the first body. Where the game had begun.
Inside, the pews were covered in dust. Stained glass fractured the light into jagged colors.
And in the center—another monitor.
Another Damien.
"Full circle," he said. "Ava, Ava, Ava. You still don't see it, do you? This isn't about Nathan. Or the victims. It's about you. Always has been."
Ava raised her gun. "You won't win."
"Haven't I already?" Damien whispered. "Check the altar."
She did.
Another box. Inside—
A lock of Nathan's hair.
And a vial of blood.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"No," she choked.
Marcus caught her.
"It's not proof," he said quickly. "It's bait. He's lying."
Ava's hands shook. Her chest ached. "But what if he's not?"
Marcus pulled her into his arms. Held her tight.
"I won't let you fall apart," he said. "Even if I have to hold all the pieces together myself."
She looked up at him, eyes shimmering. "Don't promise what you can't keep."
"This is the one promise I'll never break."
Their foreheads touched. No kiss this time. Just closeness. Raw. Real.
Outside, the wind picked up, shaking the stained glass until it hummed with tension. The game wasn't over—but something had shifted. Ava could feel it deep in her bones.
Damien wasn't just after blood.
He was after her mind.
Her past.
Her heart.
But standing here, wrapped in Marcus's arms, she realized something else: she might be broken, but she wasn't alone.
And she wasn't done fighting.
Not for Nathan.
Not for herself.
Not for the man who refused to let her fall.
The hunt wasn't over.
But they weren't just hunters anymore.
They were something stronger.
Something Damien couldn't break.
Not now. Not ever.