The Woman In His War

Chapter Ten: The Edge Of Escape

She had been planning it since the first morning.

Not dramatically or recklessly. But methodically. Serena Savino had never been the kind of person who panicked first and thought later. She had watched everything for three days. The staff rotations. The guards who paid attention versus the ones pretending to. The cameras mounted high along the courtyard walls. The timing of footsteps in the corridor outside her room. Which men carried weapons visibly and which ones carried them like secrets.

The gate rotation changed every morning at ten forty-five. There's a blind spot near the old wall visible only from the library window if you stood at exactly the right angle and pretended to be reading.

Three days of observation and patience.

At ten forty-seven, she moved. The man at the gate was watching the road. He always watched the road at this time, a habit she'd noted on day one and confirmed on day two. She turned at the far end of the loop and kept walking. Past the usual turning point into the shadow of the east wall.

The wall was old stone and the mortar between the blocks aged enough to provide grip. She'd worn the flat-soled shoes from the wardrobe deliberately, chosen them on her first morning deliberately and had been patient enough to wait two days to use them. She went up the wall like someone who had climbed things before. Halfway up, her muscles burned but she went up because she knew what staying here would cost her. Halfway up, her muscles burned.

Her hands found the top. She pulled herself up. And suddenly the road was there. Empty. And suddenly, freedom looked strangely unimpressive from six feet above the ground. A narrow road. Bare trees. Grey winter light.

She swung one leg over regardless. Footsteps. The one that moved differently from everyone else's in this compound. She knew before she looked.

He was standing at the base of the wall alone with his arms crossed. No Ren. No guards. No one else behind him. Just Dante, in the cold morning light, looking up at her with full attention of someone getting interested in a drama.

Serena sat on top of the wall. One leg on each side and the road six feet below her on one side. They stared at each other for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. Wind moved through the bare trees. Somewhere far off, a gate clanged shut. A bird landed several feet away on the wall, c****d its head at them both as if confused by human behavior, then stayed perfectly still. Dante's eyes never left her face.

"You counted the rotation," he said finally.

"Four minute overlap." She held his gaze. "Every morning at ten forty-five."

Something moved across his face. She'd stopped trying to name these small movements. They came and went too fast and too specific to translate cleanly. This one was close to the thing that lived between anger and admiration, the thing that had no clean category.

"You mapped the blind spot from the library window."

"Yeah, two days ago.”

Dante stepped closer to the wall. "Come down, Serena.”

The way he said her name did something unwelcome to her chest but she ignored it.

"I'm considering my options.”

"The road leads to a junction eleven kilometers from here," he said. "There's no transport or signal until the ridge." His eyes flicked briefly to her shoes, then back to her face. "And you're freezing already."

"I've been colder."

"Not for eleven kilometers.” His voice landed harder than the words. Not mockery. Not control. It was concern. Real concern. The realization landed low and sharp in her chest. She hated it immediately and looked at the road, then back at him.

She swung her leg back over and came down the inside of the wall. Her feet hit the courtyard stone. She straightened and turned and Dante was right there, closer than she'd expected. He was close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze, close enough to feel the warmth coming off him in the cold morning air.

She felt that warmth and said nothing about it.

"The shoes," he mentioned. "You chose them the first morning."

"Yes."

His gaze dropped briefly again, to the thin line of blood near the base of her thumb where the stone had split skin.

"I noticed."

Something about the words unsettled her more than if he'd been angry.

"You knew I was planning this all along?"

"I suspected."

"And you let me continue."

Dante paused and moved his eyes to hers."I wanted to see if you would actually do it.”

The honesty hit harder than accusation would have. Serena stared at him. Most men lied instinctively when control was involved. They softened things and pretended choices had been unavoidable. Dante never did.

"For what? She said, "Entertainment?"

"No,” he looked at the wall beside her. "You waited two days. Most people try the first night.”

"That's because most people panic."

"And you don't, he started. “The drop on the other side is manageable. The road stays unmonitored for almost nine hundred meters before the ridge cameras pick up movement. You planned well.”

Serena remained silent for a few seconds while keeping her eyes on Dante's gaze and thought within herself: Am I supposed to take this as a compliment? Instead, she decided to take it as an opportunity to ask Dante what he was planning to do with her.

"You took me from my home," she said. “You keep me behind locked gates. You decide where I go, what I know, when I leave. What are you planning to do with me? There's no way you’re expecting obedience from me.”

For the first time since she'd met Dante, something close to anger moved visibly through him. It darkened his eyes in a way that made her heartbeat quicken instinctively.

"You think I don't know what this looks like?" he said. "I know exactly what it is. But iIf I wanted obedience, Serena, you would've lost the privilege of planning escapes the first night.”

The words landed with enough force that she forgot how to answer immediately. Because he was right. Dante looked at her scraped hand again. Then, before she could react, he reached for it. Serena went still instantly. It wasn't fear, but shock. His fingers closed carefully around her wrist and turned her hand slightly, looking at the split skin across her palm.

“See, I'm not your enemy," Dante's stated.

Serena looked at him. She looked at the exhaustion hidden underneath discipline. At the anger he kept leashed so tightly it barely showed. At the terrible stillness of a man who carried grief like a second skeleton beneath his skin.

"Then, you should've let me go," she whispered.

"I can't.” Dante said, almost raising his voice, but he restrained himself.

The contact lasted for three seconds but it felt much longer. She became abruptly aware of everything. The cold air. His thumb near her pulse. The fact that he was standing close enough for her to smell cedar and smoke clinging faintly to his coat. The fact that her breathing had changed. Dante seemed to realize it at the same moment she did. His hand released hers immediately. A strange tension snapped tight between them. Dante looked away first.

"Go inside," he said. But his voice sounded different now.

Serena wanted to make a speech but turned quickly as she spotted Ren behind him. She walked beside him across the courtyard in silence. They walked back across the courtyard in silence.

At the entrance he held the door and she went through it without looking at him. He followed.

The door closed behind them and the courtyard went back to its ordinary business. The bird on the wall flew off and the morning continued. Ren stood in the corridor trying to catch his breath and neither of them knew it yet.