—Natasha's POV—
The heavy, rust-spotted door of the warehouse groaned shut behind me, muting the cacophony of the garage into a dull, throbbing hum. I stumbled forward, my legs unsteady, the cold night air doing little to cool the furnace of shame and fury burning inside me. I had only managed a few paces across the cracked asphalt when a firm, yet gentle hand closed around my upper arm, pulling me to a stop.
"Natasha. Wait."
It was Enzo. His voice was a low, strained rasp, stripped of the competitive fire he’d shown moments before, filled now with a desperate urgency. Without a word, he guided me away from the pools of jaundiced light spilling from the warehouse windows, into the deep, concealing shadows between two towering stacks of shipping containers. The air here was still and col
