Ayaan fiddled with his fingers, his eyes softening as he opened his mouth and closed it again — once, twice, three times — before pressing both hands flat against the hospital bed and biting his lip.
"From what I can sense," he said finally, his voice calm and slow, "I have never seen her look at me with those intentions. It feels like she only considers me her brother. Her close friend. Nothing more, nothing less."
Ava looked at him steadily.
"You saved her again today. How many times will you do this? You will keep protecting her but never once tell her how you feel?"
"I love her enough to not burden her with my emotions and cause unnecessary damage to our friendship." He turned his head toward the side wall, away from Ava, away from everything. "That is all. Kindly close the topic."
Ava studied his profile for a moment — the set of his jaw, the way he was hiding behind that wall of his.
"You need to rest here for a few days. Then you will be okay, inshallah." She smiled a little, stood up, and left the room. Ayaan sat alone in the quiet, still looking at the wall.
On the other side of the city, Emris sat at his dining table with his food before him — alone, as always, just him and his thoughts and the particular silence that followed bad news.
He had received word. Elaya was alive. Czar had saved her.
His face was stone.
He cut into his steak with a fork and knife — though neither was ordinary. The steel of both had been wrapped in human skin, fresh, fixed in place by sustained heat until it had bonded completely to the metal. He ate without looking up, his gaze fixed on the plate.
The skin belonged to the man who had grabbed Elaya's wrist earlier that evening. Emris had dealt with him within hours of hearing about the failure.
"Atleast his skin is of some use," he said through gritted teeth, "unlike him."
A slow smile crept to the corner of his lips.
"You will die soon. Just see." .Then he stood — sudden, sharp — and hurled the table sideways. It crashed and skidded across the floor. His breathing was unsteady, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury.
Movement caught his eye. Someone coming through the back door. Black mask. Black outfit. The figure stopped and looked at Emris.
Emris narrowed his eyes. "Caius?"
The man chuckled and reached up toward his mask — then the doorbell rang.
Both of them went still.
Emris checked the camera feed. Ava.
Caius crossed the room in three strides and slipped inside the wardrobe on the left wall of the dining room, pulling it shut behind him.
Emris composed himself in a breath, switching everything off behind his eyes, and opened the door.
"Ms. Ava?" His voice was calm and warm.
"Can I come in," she said. Not a question.
"Of course. Please." He stepped aside with a smile.
Ava walked in. Her eyes went immediately to the overturned dining table. One eyebrow rose as she looked back at Emris — who had already arranged his expression into something glassy and pained.
"What is this? Were you fighting with someone, or was this anger?" She moved toward the table slowly, examining it.
"I was not able to protect my daughter," he said, his voice breaking just enough.
Ava hummed. Her eyes moved around the room — unhurried, reading the space. "It feels like someone else is here," she murmured under her breath.
"I wanted to confirm the man's identity," she continued, turning to face Emris. "If you don't know him, how did he know to attack you and your daughter?"
Emris stood before her, eyes downcast, hands loosely intertwined in front of him. Pleading without asking.
"I seriously have no idea," he said quietly.
"You are sure?"
"Yes."
She reached into her pocket and produced a photograph, holding it out toward him. "Look at this again and tell me."
Emris looked at the photo. His face remained neutral — no flicker, no recognition, nothing.
Inside the wardrobe, Caius watched through the narrow gap.
His eyes had not left Ava since she walked in.
Something had happened the moment they landed on her — something he could not name and was not prepared for. He had not blinked. His breath was barely there, shallow and forgotten, his mind unusually, uncomfortably still.
She moved through the flat with quiet precision, asking the same questions from different angles, patient and methodical, circling Emris without ever quite letting him settle. Then she began moving toward the wardrobe. Caius closed his eyes.
Her phone rang.
She stopped. Turned her back to the wardrobe and answered it. Emris stood across the room, arms crossed, watching her.
A moment later she ended the call, glanced at Emris with a look that said everything, and walked toward the door.
"We are not done yet," she said without fully turning, the words landing over her shoulder like a quiet warning.
And she was gone.