Florence — Dr. Mirella's Safehouse, 2:30 P.M.
There had been no sound all morning. Not from Kael. Not from the Florence sky. It was as if the world was holding its breath—waiting to see who would die first.
Kael lay stretched across the long stone couch, his breathing shallow but far from peaceful. Ariella knew he wasn't sleeping. He never truly slept—just waited. For something. Or someone.
Since arriving two hours ago, only Dr. Mirella had spoken. Kael had remained silent. Like a statue made of blood—wounded, yet refusing to be healed.
Ariella leaned against the half-open window frame. The sky hung low and gray, heavy with secrets it didn't dare release. Outside, leaves drifted down like silent confessions. Everything was still, like time itself had frozen in place.
She didn't know what hurt more—Kael's open wounds or the unnamed one blooming quietly inside her. She was tired. Confused. And angry at herself for still caring.
Mirella appeared beside her, carrying a damp cloth. "You should make him eat. The internal bleeding's worse than he's letting on."
Ariella gave a small nod, her fingers gripping the edge of the folded blanket. Her hands were cold. Colder than the air.
"You know who he is?" Mirella asked quietly.
She nodded again. "I know enough to be afraid. But also enough to stay."
Mirella arched a brow. "That's not a usual answer from a girl with scars."
"I was never usual."
"And him?"
Ariella glanced toward the couch. Kael's face was half-shadowed, unreadable. But she knew he was listening. He always listened.
"…He made me stop thinking about who I was supposed to be. And start wondering who I actually am."
Kael's eyes opened slowly.
"Don't," he said, his voice low.
Ariella turned to him. "Don't what?"
"Don't look for answers in me. I'm just a question no one wants to solve."
He sat up slowly, blood soaking the side of his shirt. He didn't flinch. His pride was tougher than any bone.
"You should lie down," she said.
"I don't do still."
Ariella stepped closer. "You also don't know how to stay still without destroying everyone around you."
Kael gave a short, bitter laugh. "So what? You want to be next?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then she said, calm but clear, "I don't know if you'll destroy me... or if I'll destroy you first."
His eyes flashed. But behind them was pain—deep, old, unstitched pain that had been there so long, he'd forgotten what healing even looked like.
"Why are you still here?" he asked. "You could leave. No one's stopping you."
Ariella exhaled. She didn't know the answer. Not really. But she knew how it felt to see him bleeding and hate herself for caring.
"What makes you think I have anywhere else to go?"
Kael went silent.
Then—quiet, broken—he said:
"I'll never be the man you need."
Ariella almost responded. But she didn't. Not now. Not yet.
She stepped back. "Good. Because I'm not even sure I need anyone."
Outside, the Florence sky began to cry.
And in that cold stone room, two broken souls stood facing each other—both too proud to admit they were weak, and too scared to admit they needed each other.
In silence, Ariella turned away, pretending to look for a cup that wasn't there. Her hands trembled. She wasn't sure if it was anger, fear, or just how close he was.
Kael pushed himself against the wall, breath shallow. Blood soaked darker into his shirt, but he refused to look fragile. He knew she was watching, even if she wouldn't turn around.
"Go get some sleep," he said eventually, voice rough.
"I'm not tired," Ariella replied, still staring at the wall.
"If you keep looking at me like that, I might forget I'm the one who's hurt."
The words stilled her. Something twisted inside her chest. She didn't want to smile. But she also didn't want to cry.
"If I stop looking, you'll fall."
Kael chuckled softly. His tone shifted.
"I already fell, Ariella. You just don't know where yet."
She finally turned to face him. Their eyes locked. And in that one breath, a thousand unsaid things passed between them.
But neither dared say a word.
Ariella walked away, toward the hallway, without looking back.
Kael lowered his gaze. Not in defeat—but because something in her voice made him want to surrender.
For the first time, he bowed—Not to pain. But to something deeper. Something that couldn't be killed.
And that…Was more dangerous than any bullet.