— ARSHILA POV
The police officer.
The same one who was investigating my stalker.
The same one who got transferred without explanation.
He stands outside the café, right under the dim streetlight, his posture stiff, his face turned slightly toward the glass like he is trying to see through it without being seen himself.
The moment stretches in a way that feels wrong, like time hesitates just long enough to let the recognition sink into my bones.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the table before I even realize I am moving.
"What's wrong?" Rafaen's voice cuts in, low and sharp, his attention snapping to me instantly.
I don't answer him.
I am already on my feet, the chair scraping faintly against the floor as I turn and walk fast, then faster, my pulse climbing with every step toward the door.
The café feels too small suddenly, the air too thick, like something just slipped through the cracks of a place that was never meant to be found.
I push the door open.
The night air hits my face, cooler, sharper, grounding and not at the same time. My eyes scan the street immediately, searching, locking onto every moving shadow, every figure passing by.
He is not there.
The spot under the streetlight is empty now.
Gone.
Like he was never standing there.
My brows pull together as I step forward, my gaze flicking left, then right, scanning the street harder now, searching for any sign of him.
There are people, cars, distant movement, but not him. Not the one face I am looking for.
"What the hell…" I mutter under my breath, my chest tightening with something I don't like.
"Arshila." Rafaen's voice comes closer this time, calm but edged. "What's wrong?"
I turn back toward him, exhaling slowly as I force my expression to settle into something less tense.
"I thought I saw someone I know," I say, brushing it off like it doesn't matter, even though it clearly does.
His gaze sharpens immediately. "Who?"
I hesitate for half a second, then shake my head, dismissing it with a small wave of my hand. "No one important. Probably just my imagination. Come on."
I don't give him time to question it further. I turn and walk back inside, the warmth of the café wrapping around me again, but it feels different now.
Not as safe. Not as quiet. Like something unseen just slipped into the room with us.
We sit again.
The table looks exactly the same, the books, the drinks, everything untouched, but the atmosphere has shifted.
I can feel it in the way my shoulders don't fully relax, in the way my attention keeps drifting toward the door without permission.
If that was really him, I would have stopped him. I would have asked him why he got transferred so suddenly, what happened to the case, why everything just disappeared like it never existed.
But he disappears instead.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, low enough that it almost gets lost.
"You're scaring me a little," Rafaen says, watching me too closely again, his tone lighter but not entirely joking.
I glance at him, one brow lifting slightly. "Then maybe you should be," I reply calmly, picking up the slice of pizza in front of me like nothing just happened.
His lips curve slowly, something dark flickering in his eyes. "I don't scare easily."
"That's because you haven't met the right kind of danger yet," I say, taking a bite, my voice casual but carrying something sharper underneath.
He leans forward slightly, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. "Or maybe I walk into it willingly."
I chew slowly, unfazed, then swallow, tilting my head just a little. "That's not bravery," I murmur. "That's stupidity dressed like confidence."
A quiet chuckle leaves him, low and amused, like he enjoys being challenged more than he should. "You have a habit of talking like you've seen things you shouldn't have."
"And you have a habit of asking questions you don't want answers to," I shoot back without missing a beat.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
The tension doesn't drop.
It stretches.
Then, like he decides to shift it himself, he leans back slightly, his tone changing just enough to sound casual again. "When is your birthday?"
I pause mid-bite, narrowing my eyes at him. "Why?"
He shrugs lightly, like it's nothing. "Curious."
"Curious?" I repeat, my tone laced with suspicion. "Or planning something? Surprise gifts? Grand gestures? Trying to compete with my husband?"
His lips twitch, a faint smirk forming. "Surprise?" he echoes softly. "I don't know. I'm not sure I can pull off something bigger than what Zayan does."
A dry laugh slips out of me, sharp and humorless. "That bastard doesn't even know when my birthday is."
That makes him go still for half a second, his gaze locking onto mine more seriously this time. "What's the date?"
I take another bite, chewing slowly before answering, "October eighteenth."
He nods once, like he is storing it somewhere important. "Four months," he murmurs. "That's enough time."
I ignore that completely, taking another bite instead, the taste finally registering properly. My brows lift slightly despite myself.
"Okay, this is actually insane," I say, glancing at the pizza. "How do you even know about this place? This is—" I shake my head slightly, taking another bite. "—ridiculously good."
He watches me as I eat, his gaze not even trying to hide it now, slow and deliberate, like he finds something entertaining in the way I am enjoying the food.
"It's a secret," he replies simply, that same knowing smirk settling on his lips.
I narrow my eyes at him, then take another bite anyway, not bothering to argue because the food is genuinely too good to care right now.
His gaze doesn't move.
Not from my face.
Not from my mouth.
It lingers in a way that feels intentional, like he is doing it on purpose just to see if I react.
I meet his stare mid-bite, completely unimpressed, and raise my hand without breaking eye contact.
Then I flip him off.
His chuckle follows immediately, low and dark, like he expected nothing less.
I lower my hand slowly, the faintest smirk still sitting on my lips as I wipe my fingers with a napkin, my eyes not leaving his.
"Tell me something," I say, my tone casual, but there is something sharper under it now, something deliberate.
His brow lifts slightly, amused. "That depends on what you're asking."
I lean forward just enough, my voice dropping a fraction. "Do you know how to aim a gun?"
The question lands between us like it belongs there.
Like it was always going to come.
For a second, he just looks at me.
Then his lips curve.
Slow.
Dangerous.
"Want me to teach you?" he asks, his voice quieter now, edged with something that feels less like an offer and more like a promise.
I don't hesitate.
"Yes."
_________________
— ZAYAN POV
My phone vibrates against the desk, sharp and precise, cutting through the silence like a warning.
I pick it up.
"Did you get him?" I ask, my voice calm, already knowing the answer before it comes.
There is no hesitation on the other end.
"I got the officer."