The night air was thick, clinging to Mikhail’s skin like a second layer of damp suffocation. He barely registered the cool wind against his face as he and Makayla moved through the shadows, their steps silent, purposeful.
Every instinct screamed at him to keep going, to put as much distance between them and Gino as possible, but his thoughts kept circling back.
To that smile.
That knowing, dangerous smile Gino had worn as they walked away.
It wasn’t defeat.
It wasn’t resignation.
It was something else.
Something worse.
Beside him, Makayla let out a slow breath, her fingers still tight around his wrist, like she was afraid he’d stop moving if she let go.
“We should be far enough for now,” she murmured.
Mikhail didn’t respond right away. His muscles were still tense, his body thrum
