Chapter 105

~MARLOWE~

The house felt smaller the moment we walked in, the walls pressing in with the weight of anticipation. Even with Torin beside me, every shadow seemed suspect, every creak of the floor a warning. I couldn’t stop glancing over my shoulder, imagining Lucien’s cold, calculating gaze somewhere just beyond our line of sight.

Torin dropped his bag by the couch, scanning the room with the same predatory alertness I had grown used to. “We need to go over everything we know,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Patterns, movements, weaknesses. He’s patient, Marlowe. Patient and methodical.”

I sank onto the couch, hands clasped tightly in my lap, the knots of fear and adrenaline still coiling in my stomach. “And if we miss something?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “If he’s… always one step ahead?”

He crouched beside me, gripping my shoulders with a firm, grounding touch. “Then we find the steps he didn’t anticipate. He can be clever, but he’s never faced us like this. Never together.”

I swallowed hard, letting his words anchor me. Together, I repeated silently. We’re together. That thought offered a small comfort, a fragile thread in the storm of anxiety.

Torin pulled a laptop from his bag, flipping it open on the coffee table. Maps, street layouts, and movement patterns filled the screen. “We start by looking at his last three confirmed locations. Small movements, nothing obvious. He’s testing, not attacking yet.”

I leaned in, trying to focus, but my mind kept drifting to the text from earlier—the taunt, the reminder that he was always watching. Every instinct in me screamed that we were running out of time, that Lucien’s patience was a trap ready to spring.

Torin’s fingers flew over the keyboard, highlighting areas of potential risk. “See here? This intersection, the corner by the flower shop. He’s been circling this route. Same time, same pattern. It’s too deliberate to be coincidence.”

I nodded, heart hammering. “And if it’s not a trap?” I asked, voice tight. “What if he’s planning something worse?”

He paused, eyes locking on mine, and for a moment, I saw something uncharacteristically raw in him—fear, frustration, the fierce need to protect me. “Then we hit him before he hits us,” he said finally, voice low and unwavering. “But we need patience. We can’t rush. We can’t make mistakes.”

I pressed my lips together, trying to still the trembling in my hands. “I’m not sure how much patience I have left,” I admitted. “Every moment, every shadow, every noise makes me feel like he’s right there.”

Torin’s hand found mine again, holding it tight. “I know,” he said softly. “But that fear? It’s what he wants. It’s what he thrives on. Don’t give him that satisfaction, Marlowe. We control the narrative. We decide when, where, and how we fight back.”

I drew in a shaky breath, letting his words settle like a lifeline in the chaos. “And if he catches up to us?”

“He won’t,” he said firmly. “Not if we stay smart. Not if we stay together. Lucien’s never seen this side of us, the side that won’t bend, won’t break, and won’t run. He underestimates the bond we have, Marlowe. That’s his weakness.”

The weight of that realization settled in me. Torin was right. Lucien may have been clever, manipulative, relentless, but he didn’t understand us, didn’t understand me. And the thought made the tight coil of fear loosen slightly, replaced by a tentative thread of defiance.

Torin’s eyes softened as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. “We’ll be ready,” he said quietly, voice carrying both reassurance and command. “He doesn’t get the upper hand…not now, not ever.”

I nodded, letting a small smile creep onto my lips. “Together,” I whispered. “Always together.”

He leaned in, pressing a brief, grounding kiss to my forehead. “Exactly. And when the time comes, we’ll make him regret ever thinking he could control us.”

We spent the next hour poring over patterns, marking intersections, noting every possible vulnerability in the city, every likely target. Each mark on the map was a tiny pulse of control, a way to reclaim some measure of safety in a world where Lucien’s shadow lingered constantly.

By the time dusk fell outside, the tension had not eased, but a rhythm had formed—a strategy, a plan. We weren’t helpless. We had choices. And that knowledge made the world feel a little less suffocating.

Torin stood, stretching his shoulders. “We need to rest soon. Tomorrow’s going to be long. But for tonight, we stick close. No unnecessary movements. No surprises.”

I nodded, following his lead as he set up the living room for comfort and security. Blankets, chairs positioned strategically, the small lights dimmed. Even in preparation, there was a kind of intimacy in our movements: silent communication, a shared rhythm that reassured me amidst the storm.

As we settled onto the couch, I allowed myself to lean against him, resting my head on his chest. His heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear, steady and grounding. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I murmured, voice soft, almost vulnerable.

“You’ll never have to find out,” he said, fingers threading through mine. “I’ll be here. Always.”

Even with Lucien’s shadow looming, I felt a flicker of hope, a spark that maybe, just maybe, we could outmaneuver him. We weren’t helpless, and we weren’t alone. And for the first time in a long time, I believed we had a fighting chance.

The evening stretched into night, the city quieting outside, but inside, we remained vigilant. Every sound, every movement, every passing car kept our instincts sharp. Yet beneath it all, there was the unspoken promise that no matter what came, we would face it together.

Lucien may have been relentless, patient, and dangerous, but we had something he would never understand: unity, resilience, and the fierce determination of two people unwilling to be broken.

And in that moment, as I nestled against Torin, I allowed myself to believe in a possibility that had seemed impossible for so long. We could survive this. We would survive him. Together, untouchable.