The kitchen smelled like cumin, garlic, and something warm and comforting that reminded Justin he hadn't had a real home-cooked meal in a long time.
Riya stood barefoot at the stove, stirring the curry with practiced ease, her hair tied up in a messy bun, strands falling around her face. She moved like she belonged there—like this little house, this kitchen, the soft golden light spilling through the windows, all bowed around her.
Justin leaned against the counter nearby, arms crossed, watching her like she was the most interesting thing in the room—which she was.
"You always cook like you're trying to ruin every man's expectations for food forever?" he asked, loud enough for both her mum and Michael to hear.
Riya didn't look at him. "You always talk like you're trying to get smacked with a ladle?"
He smirked. "Only if you're the one swinging it."
Michael raised an eyebrow from the dining table where he was arranging cutlery. "Should I leave you two alone, or is this part of the dinner experience?"
Riya's mum chuckled under her breath, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Let them be. This is mild. You should've seen them in the car—like fire and gasoline."
Justin grinned. "She likes pretending I annoy her. It's part of her charm."
Riya glanced at him sideways. "You do annoy me."
He took a step closer, just enough to make her pulse tick up. "Then why are you blushing?"
"I'm standing over steam."
"Sure you are."
Riya's mum turned away, clearly hiding a smile, and Michael muttered something like "He's got nerve" under his breath.
Justin, completely unbothered, reached past Riya to sneak a taste from the edge of the pan.
She slapped his hand away with the wooden spoon. "Don't touch."
"I thought this was a 'make yourself at home' kind of kitchen."
"Not when you're trying to steal food."
He grinned, undeterred. "I'd rather steal your attention, but I'll settle for a bite of curry."
Riya tried to hold back a smile—and failed.
Her mum glanced between them, amused. "He's shameless, this one."
Justin turned, unapologetic. "Only with her."
Michael folded his arms, watching him closely. "What exactly are your intentions here, Justin?"
Without hesitation, Justin replied, eyes locked on Riya, "To make her laugh. Keep her safe. And convince her I'm worth keeping around."
Riya blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected that. Neither had her mum, who looked momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity.
Michael nodded slowly. "Well. At least you're honest."
Riya stirred the pot a little harder. "This curry's going to burn if you all keep staring at me like I'm a Netflix drama."
"Sorry," Justin said with a grin, "but you're way more entertaining than TV."
And as the last bit of sunlight disappeared through the kitchen window, the room filled with warmth—not just from the food, but from something quieter, something new. Maybe even something dangerous.
But also… kind of beautiful.
Two weeks later, the warmth of that kitchen felt like a dream too far away to touch.
They were eating dinner when it happened—something simple, lentils and rice, a salad Riya had chopped up while humming a tune that still lingered in Justin's head. The knock at the door was too hard. Too purposeful. Not the kind of knock neighbors used.
Justin's fork paused halfway to his mouth. He met Riya's eyes across the table, and in that split second, something passed between them. Instinct. Memory. Danger.
Michael stood, already moving toward the door when Justin's voice cut through the quiet.
"Don't."
Everyone froze.
Riya's mum looked between them, her face tightening. "What's going on?"
Justin was already on his feet, grabbing the duffel bag he'd hidden behind the cupboard. "They found us."
Michael swore under his breath. "How?"
"Doesn't matter. We have maybe thirty seconds before they stop knocking."
Riya pushed her chair back. "We're not fighting in this house."
"We're not fighting at all," Justin said. "We're running."
He grabbed her hand, warm and trembling in his, and bolted for the back door.
Behind them, the knock turned into pounding. And then the wood cracked.
Riya's mum stood, fists clenched, voice shaking. "Go. We'll handle this."
Justin hesitated. "They'll hurt you—"
"We've lived through worse," Michael said firmly. "You just keep her safe."
With one last look at her mum, Riya turned and ran.
The woods behind the house were thick and dark, the moonlight cutting through branches in silvery slivers. Twigs snapped beneath their feet. Justin held her hand tight as they weaved through the trees, his heart thundering like it was trying to punch through his chest.
They didn't speak. There was no time for that. Only breath, adrenaline, and the cold bite of fear nipping at their heels.
Gunshots cracked in the distance. Riya flinched, stumbling, and Justin caught her before she hit the ground. "Keep going," he said, his voice low but urgent.
They ran deeper, farther, until the house and the warmth and the world they had tried to build was swallowed up by shadows.
Eventually, they reached a small clearing—quiet, for now.
Riya leaned against a tree, panting. "Is this what life with you looks like?" she asked, a bitter laugh escaping between breaths.
Justin stood beside her, chest heaving. "No," he said quietly. "This is what life without protection looks like. I'm going to change that."
She looked at him, saw the way the moonlight caught the worry etched into his face.
He wasn't just running. He was carrying guilt.
"Justin…" she started.
But before she could finish, a rustle in the trees made them both freeze.
They weren't alone.
Not yet.
Branches snapped. A shape moved through the trees, fast and low. Justin pulled Riya behind him, hand already reaching inside his jacket for the knife he'd tucked away.
Then—nothing.
Silence swallowed the clearing again.
After what felt like an eternity, Justin exhaled. "We need to keep moving."
Riya didn't argue. She followed him through the trees, every sound feeling sharper, every shadow a threat. They walked for hours, until the sky began to pale and the forest started thinning, the salty tang of sea air brushing against their skin like a whisper.
By dawn, they emerged onto a dirt road that wound its way toward the sound of crashing waves. The trees gave way to wild grass and weathered stones, and just beyond, nestled between cliffs and coastline, was a village. Small, quiet. Faded houses with rusted tin roofs. Fishing nets draped over fences. Boats bobbing in the bay like lazy guardians of the shore.
"Where the hell are we?" Riya asked, her voice hoarse.
Justin scanned the horizon. "Safe, hopefully."
They followed the road down into the village. A few locals glanced their way, but no one asked questions. Justin's instincts were sharp—this place had the kind of hush where secrets lived comfortably. The kind of place people disappeared to.
An old woman sold them bread and bottled water at a roadside stall. She barely looked at them, and when Justin handed over a little too much cash, she didn't blink. Just tucked it into her apron and waved them on.
They found an abandoned shack just off the beach, half-covered in vines and shadowed by palm trees. The windows were cracked, the roof patchy—but it had walls, and a lock. For now, that was enough.
That night, Riya sat on the porch with a blanket around her shoulders, watching the waves crash under a silver moon.
Justin joined her in silence, their arms brushing.
"It's beautiful," she said softly.
"Yeah," he replied, but he was looking at her.
They sat like that for a long time, the danger behind them just out of reach, the future uncertain—but for now, there was salt in the air, the hush of the tide, and the quiet rhythm of hearts that refused to stop running.
It wasn't home.
But it was hope.
The morning came soft and slow, the kind that made the world feel paused. Riya woke to the sound of gulls and the scent of salt in the air. Justin was gone, but he'd left a note scribbled on a scrap of cardboard from a cereal box.
"Back soon. Lock the door. - J."
She stared at the note for a long time, thumb brushing over the ink. He hadn't said where, and that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Hours passed. She cleaned the shack, boiled water, tried not to spiral. Tried not to think of the last time Justin had disappeared from her life—years ago, without a word. And now, he was gone again.
But this time… he came back.
The sun had started to dip when she saw them approaching from down the beach. Justin's figure was unmistakable—tall, fast, urgent. But it was the man beside him that stopped her cold.
Broad shoulders. Dark clothes. That familiar edge in his posture like he was always half a breath from violence.
Hank.
Riya froze in the doorway. Her body reacted before her mind caught up—heart pounding, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists.
He saw her, and to his credit, he stopped a few feet away.
"Riya," he said, his voice low, unreadable.
She didn't answer him. She turned to Justin. "Are you kidding me?"
Justin held up his hands. "He's not here to hurt you."
"He already did," she snapped. "Or do you not remember the trunk of his car?"
Hank looked away, jaw tight.
Justin stepped forward, lowering his voice. "I didn't bring him here to reopen old wounds. I brought him here because we need him. He's been working undercover. Feeding them false intel. He's the reason we got a warning before they found the cabin."
Riya's pulse was still high, her breath shallow, but she didn't speak.
"He's the only one I trust to watch our backs right now," Justin said quietly. "But if you tell me to send him away, he's gone."
Silence stretched between the three of them, taut and fraying.
Finally, Riya looked at Hank. "Why should I believe you?"
Hank met her eyes for the first time. "Because I didn't take you to hurt you. I took you to protect you from the ones who would."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," he said, voice rough. "It's just the truth."
Justin watched her, waiting, not pressuring.
Riya's throat felt tight. She hated this. The trust, the fear, the fact that her world was so tangled up she didn't even know who the villains were anymore.
She exhaled shakily. "Fine. He stays. But if you even think about putting a bag over my head again, I will drown you in that ocean myself."
Hank gave a nod. Not quite a smile. But something close.
And just like that, the war wasn't behind them anymore.
Two Days Later
The ocean was calm, the sky painted in streaks of orange and pink. But inside the little shack, the tension had grown unbearable.
Justin stood by the door, backpack slung over his shoulder, expression unreadable.
Riya stared at him like he'd just declared war.
"You're leaving?" she asked, the words coming out quieter than she meant them to.
He nodded once. "Just for a few days. I need to meet a contact in the city—someone who can help us disappear for good. New IDs. Clean passports. Enough cash to start over."
Riya crossed her arms. "Then I'm coming with you."
"No."
That one word hit her like a slap.
Justin stepped forward, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that made it worse. "You stay here. With Hank."
She pulled away from his touch. "That's not your call."
"It is," he said. "Because if something goes wrong, I need to know you're safe. I can't focus if I'm worried about you getting caught in the crossfire."
"I'm not a civilian in this anymore, Justin. I stopped being safe the second I ran with you. Or did you forget the bullet that missed me by an inch?"
"I remember every bullet," he said, voice tight. "Every scream. Every second of it. And I'll be damned if I let you walk into more of it when I have a choice."
Riya looked at Hank, who stood just outside, pretending not to listen. He was giving them space—too much space.
"You trust him more than me now?"
Justin's jaw tightened. "I trust him to protect you. I don't trust the world we're up against. And I trust myself a hell of a lot more if I know you're out of the blast zone."
Her voice cracked. "And what if you don't come back?"
Justin stepped closer again, taking both her hands this time. "Then I'll die trying. But I promise you, Riya… I will come back."
She looked at him, eyes glassy but defiant. "You don't get to make promises like that."
"I just did."
He kissed her then—desperate and slow, like he was trying to burn the taste of her into his memory. Her hands clutched the back of his jacket, not ready to let go. But eventually… she did.
He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him cold.
"If you don't come back, Justin… I swear, I'll burn this world down."
He paused at the door, back still to her. "That's my girl."
Then he disappeared into the dusk, and Riya was left with the echo of the waves… and a man she barely trusted.
---
That Night
Riya sat in the dark, staring at the sea.
Hank didn't speak at first. He just handed her a cup of tea and sat beside her on the porch.
"You think he'll make it?" she asked, her voice hollow.
Hank took a sip of his own. "If anyone can, it's him."
She looked at him. "You ever been in love, Hank?"
He exhaled, the answer already in his eyes. "Once. It didn't end well."
Riya nodded. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to lose him twice."
Hank didn't say anything. Just sat with her, the night wrapping around them like salt-soaked silence.
And far off in the distance, Justin crossed into enemy territory—alone, unarmed except for his instincts, his rage, and the promise of a woman who'd vowed to set the world on fire for him.