Chapter Twenty Eight

Shadows Between Us

AURORA

Some threats don’t arrive with warning.

They don’t knock politely at your door. They come cloaked in familiarity, hiding in the places you’ve already allowed yourself to breathe.

It started with an email — brief, urgent, and coded with a subtle menace only someone familiar with me would understand:

“Meet me tonight. Alone. Or someone else pays the cost.”

No name. No signature. Just a threat that made my blood run cold in a way Zane never had.

I didn’t panic. Not immediately. But I felt the old ache in my chest — the instinctive tightening of muscle and mind that had once kept me from trusting my own shadow.

I tried to trace it logically. Corporate rival? A disgruntled client? Someone seeking revenge for my success? But nothing matched. The sender had gone to lengths to erase all footprints.

And the worst part? I knew instinctively this wasn’t random. Whoever it was, they knew about Zane. About the dinner. About the fragile equilibrium I was attempting to maintain between past and present.

---

ZANE

I knew before she did that this would happen.

Not because I have access to information others don’t. Because danger has a way of seeking out people I care about — or who I used to care about — the moment they stop expecting it.

The text reached me second. A screenshot from Aurora, her hand slightly trembling as she set the phone down.

I didn’t react outwardly. I never did. Not for her, not for anyone. But internally, the familiar fire that had been dormant since Geneva roared back.

She was in danger, and she didn’t even realize it yet.

“Stay calm,” I murmured to myself, though the words were more a command than reassurance. Calm wouldn’t protect her. Only precision, planning, and presence would.

And I was going to be present.

---

AURORA

I debated calling Zane immediately. The temptation was overwhelming. He had always known how to handle these situations with effortless dominance — a lethal combination of strategy, instinct, and control.

And yet, I hesitated. Because that’s how much I had grown. Because this time, I wasn’t going to let my reflex be to surrender.

I organized my mind like I had once organized a boardroom takeover:

Assume the threat is real.

Avoid isolation.

Gather information.

Respond strategically.

I stepped out that evening into the wet streets, the city lights reflecting like fractured diamonds across puddles. Every shadow seemed heavier, every pedestrian stranger and unfamiliar.

And then I saw him. Not approaching, not intruding — simply observing from a distance, blending in perfectly.

Zane.

---

ZANE

I didn’t step forward immediately. I watched her navigate the streets with careful grace, heels clicking against wet pavement, mind clearly racing through contingencies I could see even from thirty feet away.

I admired her, silently. She was my equal now. Not just in intellect, not just in courage — but in control. And yet, the moment danger brushed close, she was still my responsibility.

A man followed her from the corner cafe. The gait, the calculated distance, the way his head tilted ever so slightly — my instincts flared.

I moved silently, intercepting before confrontation became inevitable.

When he turned a corner, expecting no eyes on him, I was already there — a shadow among shadows.

---

AURORA

The man appeared in the alley just as I left the small, dimly lit restaurant.

“Miss Lupin?” His voice was low, controlled. Friendly, but wrong.

I froze. Something primal told me not to engage. My hand hovered near my bag — a small, practical deterrent — but instinct alone wasn’t enough.

And then I felt it: a presence behind me, invisible but undeniable.

Zane.

I exhaled, more relief than fear, but also recognition of how deeply he’d become entangled in my life, whether I wanted it or not.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I murmured to the man.

He smiled, the wrong kind of smile. “I don’t think you understand who I work for…”

I barely had time to react.

Zane stepped forward, calm, silent, and utterly commanding. In an instant, he positioned himself between me and the threat.

“Walk away,” he said.

The man hesitated.

Zane didn’t repeat it. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough — a predator against another, silent and absolute.

The man retreated, disappearing into the night, leaving us alone.

---

ZANE

She turned to me, tension still coiled in her shoulders. Her eyes searched mine, silently questioning, silently blaming herself for being in this situation.

“You’re stronger than you realize,” I said softly, letting my tone carry reassurance, warning, and familiarity all at once.

“I can handle myself,” she said, voice steady but lower than usual.

I allowed a small smile. “I know. But some fires don’t burn only when we choose them. Some flames are drawn toward us.”

Her eyes met mine. There was no argument, no surrender — only understanding.

I extended my hand. Not possession. Not claim. Just presence.

Her hand met mine — brief, electric, and steady.

We walked together that night, side by side, blending into the shadows and lights of the city, our proximity a quiet acknowledgment: fire could be chosen, but protection could not.

---

AURORA

Afterwards, standing in my apartment, heart still thrumming, I realized something vital.

This danger had not undone me. It had reminded me.

Zane could no longer control me.

But together, as equals, we could face anything.

I poured a glass of water, staring at the skyline. The city was vast, indifferent, and alive.

The fire still existed. It always would.

But now, I had learned the most dangerous lesson: you don’t have to surrender to fire to survive it.

You simply need to choose when, and with whom, to walk through it.

And I chose.