Chapter 13

Anna's POV

The neon light of the rundown motel flickered as Dorian parked the motorcycle behind the building, out of sight from the main road.

My legs were shaking as I came down, barely catching myself before my knees gave out. Every muscle in my body ached, but I forced myself to move. We couldn’t rest yet.

Dorian scanned the empty lot, his sharp eyes searching for threats. When he was satisfied we weren’t being followed, he gestured for me to follow. The motel’s chipped paint and broken sign told me everything I needed to know—no security cameras, no questions asked.

Inside, the air smelled of stale cigarettes and mildew. The receptionist barely glanced at us as Dorian handed over cash, securing a key without a word. He didn’t ask how long we’d stay, and I was grateful for that.

The moment we stepped into the room, I locked the door and sagged against it, pressing my forehead to the cold wood. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only exhaustion and the lingering terror of how close we’d come to dying.

Dorian set the key on the nightstand and shrugged off his jacket with a wince. That’s when I noticed the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage on his arm.

“Sit,” I ordered, my voice hoarse with worry.

He hesitated, but one look at my face must’ve told him arguing was pointless. He sat on the edge of the bed as I knelt beside him, carefully unwrapping the fabric. The wound was shallow but angry-looking, a reminder of the chaos we’d barely escaped.

I found an old first-aid kit in the bathroom and cleaned the cut as gently as I could. Dorian didn’t flinch, but his gaze never left my face.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Not my first time patching up a bullet wound.”

When I finished, I sat back on my heels, suddenly aware of how close we were. The motel room was dimly lit, casting shadows across his face, making his dark eyes seem even more intense.

“We almost didn’t make it,” I whispered.

Dorian reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “But we did.”

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down my spine. I hated how much I needed it. How much I needed him.

I leaned in, resting my forehead against his. For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, the quiet reminder that we were still alive. His hands settled on my waist, grounding me.

The moment broke when his burner phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Dorian sighed, pulling away to check the screen. His expression darkened.

“It’s Viktor.”

I straightened, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Did he agree to meet?”

“He did,” Dorian said, typing a quick response. “But he warned me—whoever is after us, they have serious connections.”

A chill ran down my spine.

“We leave in an hour,” he added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I nodded quietly, turning my eyes to the skyline. I knew better than to attempt to argue with him.

The hour passed in tense silence. Dorian sat on the bed, methodically checking his gun—the only weapon we had managed to secure. I sat by the window, staring at the city beyond, trying to piece together everything that had happened.

Someone had planned the attack. Someone had made sure we were hunted. But the worst part—the part I couldn't shake—was the idea that my survival had been intentional.

Why?

The thought twisted in my gut as we left the motel, stepping into the cold night air.

Dorian had arranged to meet Viktor in a quiet, industrial part of the city—a place where no one would ask questions, where secrets could be traded in the dark. We took a stolen car, an old sedan Dorian had swiped off a side street, something untraceable.

The drive was silent, but I could feel the tension radiating off Dorian. His hands gripped the wheel too tightly, his jaw clenched in quiet fury.

"You trust Viktor?" I finally asked.

Dorian exhaled through his nose. "I trust him to want to save his own skin."

Not exactly reassuring.

The meeting point was an abandoned railyard on the outskirts of Berlin. The tracks were rusted, overgrown with weeds, and the air smelled of oil and damp metal. Viktor was already there, leaning against an old train car, smoking a cigarette.

He looked older than I remembered. His once-sharp features were softened with lines, his blond hair now graying at the temples. But his eyes—calculating and cold—were the same.

"You look good for a dead woman," he said, flicking the cigarette away.

I tensed, but Dorian stepped forward. "What do you know?"

Viktor glanced around before speaking. "The attack wasn’t a random hit. It was an extraction."

I frowned. "Extraction?"

Viktor nodded. "Someone wanted you out of that compound, Anna. Someone powerful. The people hunting you now? They weren’t trying to kill you that night. They were making sure you escaped."

Ice trickled down my spine.

Dorian's expression darkened. "Why?"

Viktor hesitated. "That’s the part I don’t know. But whoever orchestrated this, they covered their tracks well. The people after you now? They’re not just hunting for revenge. They’re looking for something—or someone." His gaze flickered to me. "And I think that someone is you."

I swallowed hard. None of this made sense. Why stage an entire attack just to get me out? Why not just take me?

Dorian didn’t waste time. "Do you have a safe house for us?"

Viktor hesitated. "I have a place you can lay low, but it won’t stay safe for long. You’re burning through your options, Dorian."

"Then we’ll make our own," Dorian said.

Viktor handed him a slip of paper with an address. "This is the best I can do."

Dorian took it, but before he could respond, I felt it. That uneasy prickle at the back of my neck.

I turned sharply, scanning the darkness.

There was a car at the edge of the railyard, just far enough to stay hidden but close enough to watch.

"We need to go," I whispered.

Dorian followed my gaze. His expression turned to steel. "Now."

We moved fast. The moment we reached our stolen car, Dorian started the engine. The car in the distance hesitated, then its headlights snapped on.