Emma, get down! Lucas's shout roared down the echoing corridor, and Emma's pulse raced in her chest as a spray of sparks fell from the shattered chandelier above. The fabric of her dress snagged on the edge as she darted behind a sleek, marble display pedestal, spinning on her heel.
The first operator stormed into the gallery with a pistol firing, causing a terrible crash of glass breaking and metal groaning. Screaming, the high-society throng dove under tables and behind statues for protection. Emma lay flat on the frigid marble, her breath coming in tiny, panicked gasps.
Lucas was already moving. Lunging forward, he pushed the operative's arm aside and sent the weapon skittering across the glossy floor. He disarmed the person and pushed him back against the wall in one smooth sweep, pinning him there with a violence that suggested years of training.
Emma, remain down! Lucas shouted, his eyes sparkling with eagerness as two more agents raced in from the other entrance.
Emma's hands tightened at her sides. Lucas!
He spun around with his weapon already drawn. "Move!" he shouted, firing two precise shots that disarmed the attackers before they could draw their guns. Breathless, he looked back to Emma; the last operative had fallen. "Are you injured?"
Her pulse still racing, she shook her head. "No, but what the hell was that?" Watching Lucas lock the scene, she sprang to her feet, eyes wide with disbelief.
A third corridor door blasted open. Emma's heart raced. "Not again—"
This time, two security officers ran in with guns pointed at Lucas. "Step away from the guests, sir!" yelled one. A backup team is en route to address the security breach.
Slowly, Lucas lifted his hands, the muscular tightness in them relaxing just a little. His voice steady yet strong, he added, "I'm not your enemy." The assailants are still inside.
The guard's hold on his firearm slackened somewhat. "What—who are you?"
Lucas's eyes showed desperation as he turned back to Emma. Emma quickly said, moving forward, "He's with me." He rescued me.
The guards looked at one another doubtfully before putting down their guns. Sir, ma'am, kindly follow us. We'll scour the site.
Emma half exhaled, one soldier leading her away, relief and adrenaline fighting for control in her chest. Remaining behind, Lucas painstakingly scrutinized every guest to make sure no one was in danger, his stance tight.
Moments later, they stepped into the clear night air, the rush of cold striking Emma like a second wave of shock. Lucas came last, shutting the gallery doors behind him as the security crew flooded in.
How did they locate us? Emma inquired, her voice shaking as her cloak wrapped around her.
Lucas's jaw tightened. It doesn't matter. We have to find a safe place for you.
Emma searched his eyes for comfort. Are you all right?
He nodded, but his eyes were far away. Your commission told them you would be here soon. Someone warned them.
Emma's stomach turned. "So the conversation was regarding the painting?"
Lucas looked at her, his brow furrowed. Somewhat. They are drawn to the final piece for reasons that I still don't fully understand. They don't care who suffers.
Emma trembled in the cold. Lucas, I'm having trouble understanding this. I just wanted to complete my task.
Gently taking her arm, he guided her toward a beautiful black SUV parked at the curb. Let's go. I'll go over everything inside. Then we will find out how to protect you.
The car raced along deserted city streets, the glare of neon signs flashing past the windows. Lucas's voice was quiet but carried a frantic undertone as he summarized the danger.
Lucas continued, his hand locating hers in the dark, "The Arbiter's group thinks your artwork has more than just artistic significance." They believe it encodes a map—coordinates to the concealed destabilizer network.
Emma gasped. "Coordinates? That's crazy.
Lucas held her hand tightly. "I understand." Whoever designed these chaotic devices, however, desired a failsafe: if you finished the last piece, they could decode it and find the final network hub.
Emma's head spun. Every brushstroke I created masked a hidden message?
His face was serious as he nodded. "Your subconscious may have painted it, but the conspirators aren't taking any chances."
Trembling, she looked at her hand. "I just... I thought I was recording feelings rather than locations."
Lucas lifted her chin, his gaze severe in the cab's low light. "They misinterpreted the storm you caught for something else." That is why they sent operatives this evening.
Emma gulped as the risks became clear. "Now what do we do?" she asked.
His voice was quiet as he pulled her near. First, we get you someplace they cannot reach. Then we learn who is behind the plot and why they so desperately need those coordinates.
Arriving at Lucas's safehouse on the outskirts of town, a generic townhouse with tight security and a hidden entrance. The door shut with a comforting click behind Lucas and Emma, guiding her inside.
Within minutes, Emma sat on a leather couch in the living area, wrapped in a soft robe. The fire on the hearth crackled, its warm warmth a sharp contrast to the frigid night she had just suffered.
Arms crossed, Lucas stood opposite her. Remain here. I'll bring us coffee.
"Coffee?" Emma's voice sounded raspy.
He smiled wryly and slightly. Believe me. We need it after tonight.
Emma sank back, her mind racing, as he entered the kitchen. She glanced at the cover over her artwork tucked under a piece of fabric in the room. She was deeply horrified by the idea that something as simple as her painting could have incited violence.
Lucas sat next to her when he came back with two hot cups. The hot drink calmed her tense nerves as she sipped.
"I'm sorry," he replied gently, seeming sincere. I never intended to involve you in this.
Emma's voice trembled as she set down her cup. "I should not have consented to let him see the painting." Lucas stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm. You didn't cause it. You were just doing your job.
But my work almost killed us.
As he reached out to gently push a strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze softened. You were unaware. I will do everything it takes to protect you.
Emma's guard fell as she gazed into his eyes. His eyes reflected her emotions, something delicate and vulnerable more than thankfulness. Though the warmth between them was unmistakable, like fire bursting through ice, the shadow of her concerns remained.
The crisis was passed—for the moment—but in the flickering firelight, Emma saw the actual threat was not only outside but also in the walls she had erected around her heart. She had distanced herself from Lucas due to her fear of his vulnerability. His presence was her best anchor now as danger approached.
"Lucas..." she started, her voice quiet as ash. I was so terrified.
His eyes were full of knowledge as he gazed at her. "Afraid of what?"
Emma inhaled shakily. Losing myself once again terrifies me. The thought of letting someone in and enduring their suffering haunts me.
He nodded carefully, as if he had practiced this discussion in his head. I understand. My existence… it is not easy. Not everything I have done makes me proud. But I promise you this: I will not let you suffer.
Emma's heart raced at his comments, but her barriers rose once more. "I want to trust you. I really do. But every time I let my guard...
Leaning forward, he reached for her hand. Let me catch you, not as a soldier or defender, but as someone who loves you more than I ever imagined. Then let me catch you. Not as a soldier, nor as your protector, but as the person who cares for you more deeply than I ever anticipated. Except for the roaring fire, the room was quiet.
Except for the roaring fire, the room was quiet. Emma's determination fluctuated between want and dread. She had already shared parts of her heart with him, including late-night phone conversations, the artwork itself, and private moments of laughter. But to really open up would be to trust him with all.
Emma felt the heat penetrate her flesh as his thumb skimmed over her knuckles. "Emma," he said softly, his voice quivering, "you don't have to go through such pain by yourself." Never.
The vulnerability in his tone dismantled the final pillar of her defenses. Emma shut her eyes and let the emotions she had been holding back flow free. Her voice carried a kind promise as she leaned into his touch. "I... I want that."
Gently, Lucas's palm cradled her face. He leaned forward like an electric spark in the quiet, his lips initially just touching hers. Emma felt the tingle of his touch, which caused her breath to catch. Then, as if motivated by her reaction, he intensified the kiss, his other hand slipping around her waist to draw her closer.
The world outside faded—the fire's brightness, the safehouse's walls, the possibility of danger—all melted away, leaving only the two of them. Emma understood at that delicate time that love was its kind of danger, but one well worth taking.
Lucas laid his forehead on hers and breathed with her until they eventually separated. He said, "This is only the start."
Emma's tears gave way to a bold and brilliant grin. Then let's confront it together.
The wind howled against the windows outside, a warning the storm was far from ended. But within, in the warmth of Lucas's arms, Emma experienced hope—something she had not felt in years.
For the first time, she embraced the vulnerability—knowing that with Lucas at her side, she might maybe survive the crossfire of her heart and the world.