Elias didn't ask where Selena went that night.
She'd only said, "It's him. Corvus."
Then a kiss to his forehead. A ghost of warmth.
And she was gone.
He told himself not to worry.
But he sat by the window anyway, phone in hand, eyes tracing every shadow on the street below.
It wasn't the first time Selena had dealt with threats. But Corvus was different.
He was once a loyal shadow in her empire—a whisper who turned into a storm. Now he hunted her, wanted her crown, and worse—he'd gone after Elias.
The fight took place in a cold, rain-slick alley. Gunshots. Blades. Blood.
Silent screams swallowed by thunder.
Selena didn't flinch when the knife grazed her ribs. Didn't pause when Corvus begged.
"I told you," she murmured, standing over him. "You touch what's mine, you don't walk away."
The rain washed the alley clean.
By the time she came back, it was almost morning.
Elias had dozed off at the shop counter. A soft blanket of flower petals clung to his sleeves from the arrangements he'd been nervously fixing all night.
The door creaked open. He jolted awake.
She looked exhausted—coat heavy with rain, hair sticking to her cheeks, blood staining her shirt near the ribs.
His heart stopped.
"Selena—!"
"I'm fine," she said, but leaned against the door like the weight of the night had caught up to her.
He crossed the room before he could think.
"I don't care if you say you're fine," he muttered, guiding her gently toward a stool. "Sit. Let me—just—let me look."
Her voice softened. "You're getting braver."
"Hmm,I'm still scared," he admitted. "But not enough to let you bleed alone."
He helped her out of the coat. Hands shaky. Careful.
The shirt underneath was torn at the side. Just a graze—but enough to make his stomach twist.
Selena watched him work, amused by his concentration.
"You really were a florist," she said.
He smiled faintly. "I still am. Even if my customers tend to bleed now."
"You're not going to run away?" she asked.
"I wanted to." He looked up. "But I realized something."
"What's that?"
He hesitated.
"That I trust you more than I'm afraid of you."
Selena blinked—just once—but it struck something deep.
"You shouldn't," she whispered. "Not yet."
"Maybe. But you keep coming back. You keep protecting me. And tonight… you came back hurt, but you still came."
He finished wrapping the gauze gently around her waist. Their faces were close. Breath mingled.
"I want to understand," Elias said. "Your world. Not all of it. Just enough to stop feeling like a stranger in your life."
Selena didn't speak right away.
Then, quietly: "Then I'll show you."
That night, Elias made tea. Just tea. The ordinary kind.
They sat side by side behind the counter, legs barely touching.
She told him stories—not the violent ones, not yet—but small things: her first safe house, the girl who taught her how to use a gun, the coded symbols etched into her tattoo.
Elias listened.
Then he told her about his sister's graduation, the scent of chrysanthemums in his old backyard, how he used to hum while trimming roses.
She laughed softly at that.
"You hum?"
"Don't make it weird."
"I like it. It's human."
They didn't touch more than that. No kisses. No confessions.
Just warmth.
And for both of them, it was more than enough.