Lovecraft

Chapter 16: The Trap

Three days passed.

Three days of silence. Three days of training in cold efficiency. Three days of Kael treating her like a soldier, not a lover. Not even a friend.

Mila threw herself into the work. If he wanted distance, she'd give him distance. She learned to strip and clean a gun in under a minute. She learned to move silently. She learned to read the files on Volkov's known associates, his habits, his weaknesses.

She also learned to stop waiting for him to look at her the way he had that night.

On the fourth day, Kael came to her with news.

"Sokolov wants to meet."

Mila looked up from the knife she was sharpening. "When?"

"Tonight. He has information. A location. Volkov's safe house."

"Finally." She stood, sliding the knife into the sheath at her thigh. "Where?"

Kael hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. But she caught it.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"He wants to meet at a warehouse on the waterfront. Neutral ground, he says." Kael's jaw tightened. "I don't trust it."

"Then we don't go."

"We have to. It's the only lead we have."

Mila studied him. The tension in his shoulders. The way he wouldn't quite meet her eyes.

"You think it's a trap."

"I think everything with Sokolov is a trap. The question is who it's for."

"Us? Or Volkov?"

"Maybe both."

She moved closer. Not too close. She'd learned her lesson about getting too close.

"Then we go together. We watch each other's backs. And if it goes bad—"

"We fight." He finally looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Not the cold distance of the past few days. Something rawer. "Mila, if something happens to me—"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Listen to me." He stepped forward, closing the distance she'd kept. His hands gripped her arms, not hard, but urgent. "If something goes wrong, you run. You don't try to save me. You don't look back. You run and you don't stop until you're out of the city. You understand?"

"No."

"Mila—"

"No." She pulled free. "I'm not running. Not again. Not from you."

His eyes blazed. Frustration. Fear. Something that looked terrifyingly like love.

"Damn it, woman, why can't you just—"

He stopped. Because she'd grabbed his face and kissed him.

For a moment, he was rigid. Then he broke. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, kissing her back like a drowning man. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against hers.

"I can't lose you," he whispered. "I can't."

"Then don't."