Vivian woke slowly, the warmth from Noah’s body seeped into hers, blending their boundaries beneath the heavy blanket. Her eyelids fluttered open, her vision adjusting slowly to the dim, artificial lighting of the storage unit. It was impossible to tell what time it was in this enclosed space, the faint illumination seeping in from beneath the metal door providing only a vague indication that daylight had returned.

  Her senses sharpened as awareness spread through her body, and suddenly she became acutely conscious of Noah’s closeness. His steady breathing rhythmically grazed the back of her neck, his warmth enveloping her. Her heart began to pound, embarrassment mixing with uncertainty as she recognized their position, their bodies pressed closely together on the narrow futon, the single pillow beneath their heads. She felt him shift slightly, and a warm flush spread across her cheeks as she noticed he was still asleep, his expression relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the sharp intensity she had grown accustomed to.

  Carefully, she untangled herself, trying not to disturb him. She slowly shifted her weight off the futon, standing up quietly. Her body ached, muscles stiff and sore from the previous night’s harrowing ordeal—the crash, the swim, the fight against the brutal ocean currents. She glanced down, noticing small scratches and bruises scattered across her arms and legs, each a quiet testament to their desperate escape. Whether caused by shattered glass from the car window, floating debris, or climbing onto the fishing boat afterward, she wasn’t entirely sure. Likely, it was all of them.

  A dull ache throbbed behind her temples, prompting her to move quietly to the shelves lining the wall. She selected a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. Settling cross-legged onto the rubber mats lining the concrete floor, she let out a slow exhale, her eyes distant as thoughts raced through her mind.

  Noah’s earlier words returned to her, spoken in a voice quiet with certainty. Someone had orchestrated Vince’s murder, Serena’s disappearance, Marcus’s death—someone with connections to the police, someone capable of silencing even those meant to uphold the law. Her memory replayed the detective’s question during her interview, asking if Serena was dangerous. The question had felt strange at the time, but now it resonated differently, more ominously.

  She traced the lines of connection carefully, mentally visualizing each link. Mike Liu’s murder had set something dangerous in motion—someone was methodically hunting down those involved. Vince, Serena, Marcus...and then the other names Mochi had mentioned: Jace Ng, Ray Wen, Erica Mo, Angie Tseng. Mochi had been desperate, scared enough to give her the name "Key"—a hired man who had taken Serena.

  Vivian’s fingers tightened involuntarily around the water bottle. Lucas was in Chicago, supposedly following a ping on Serena’s phone, but now Vivian wondered if that had been a carefully laid false trail, a distraction designed to draw attention away from the real threat. If Vivian and Noah were believed dead, if Black Lotus were occupied chasing leads in Chicago, wouldn’t the true threat remain here in San Francisco?

  Or was that too simple? Her gaze drifted back to Noah’s sleeping form. Even in sleep, his features were defined by subtle tension, a quiet readiness. She recalled how he’d protected her during the crash—breaking the car window glass, pushing her onto the fishing boat first despite his own injuries. Her memory flashed again to their kiss in the car, the desperate warmth she’d shared with him on the boat, the softness in his eyes as she helped him button his shirt at the gym.

  Vivian felt heat rise to her cheeks, a complicated mix of embarrassment and something deeper she wasn’t prepared to name. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes briefly. She felt trapped—not physically, not exactly—but emotionally, psychologically. The realization unsettled her deeply. Noah was intelligent, meticulous, always one step ahead. His preparation had saved them last night, but was she now entirely dependent on him? Had he intended it that way from the beginning?

  The thought terrified her, yet it was uncomfortably plausible. Every element—the car, the storage unit, their new identities—had been perfectly prepared, waiting for exactly this moment. And then there was the quiet, possessive edge in his voice as he’d slipped up during his semi-conscious state, calling her "Doll Face." She remembered the vague, drug-hazed memory, wondering again if it was a genuine recollection or if Noah was manipulating her further.

  She opened her eyes, studying his still figure.

  What do you really want from me?

  Can I trust you?

  There was no immediate answer, just the steady rise and fall of his chest in sleep. She sighed softly. She wouldn’t solve this puzzle today, and right now, Noah didn’t appear to pose an immediate danger. At least, none she could see clearly.

  Carefully setting down the water bottle, Vivian moved quietly to retrieve the restroom keys from their hook on the shelf. The metallic jingle startled Noah awake instantly, his eyes snapping open, immediately alert despite his injuries and fatigue.

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  “Where are you going?” he asked, voice rough from sleep, yet sharp with immediate vigilance.

  Vivian hesitated, embarrassed by the intensity of his scrutiny. “Just...the restroom. It’s right there.”

  Noah pushed himself upright with effort, his face tightening with pain. “Then we go together.”

  Vivian protested softly, “Noah, it’s two steps away.”

  His response was firm, leaving no room for argument. “Better to be cautious.”

  She sighed but didn’t argue further, realizing quickly that there was no point. She helped him to his feet, noticing the stiffness in his movements, the careful way he masked his discomfort. Together, they exited the storage unit into the bright daylight. The sun’s rays were harsh, blinding after hours spent in the dim storage unit.

  The facility was eerily quiet; the office was dark and empty, the surrounding units silent, almost ghostly. The lack of staff in broad daylight was a testament to the lax security of the facility. Looking at the units, Vivian wondered what kind of people would want to store their goods in a place like this. Considering what Noah had made of his unit, they could all be storing nothing, or anything. And likely none of it good. Vivian shivered slightly, suddenly glad for Noah’s steadying presence beside her.

  The short walk to the restroom building felt longer, the air heavy with quiet tension. Noah moved carefully but steadily, his watchfulness unrelenting. Vivian glanced around nervously, the sparse, neglected security of the storage facility suddenly seeming ominous rather than comforting. She quickly entered the restroom, using the facilities hastily, her senses on high alert.

  As they returned to their unit, Vivian felt a quiet appreciation for Noah’s obsessive protectiveness, despite its intensity. It was simultaneously unnerving and reassuring. Noah’s vigilance anchored her in a world that had become abruptly unrecognizable and dangerous.

  Back inside, Vivian helped Noah carefully lie back down on the futon. “You’re not sleeping?” he asked softly, exhaustion evident in his voice.

  “I’ve had enough,” she replied quietly. She watched him for a moment, adding softly, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. Rest.” The thought settled heavily within her—she had nowhere else to go.

  Hours passed slowly, marked by the subtle sounds of the storage facility: faint metallic creaks, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional rustle of leaves against the corrugated metal walls. Noah woke slowly, his eyes clearer, his color improved.

  Vivian watched him carefully. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

  He offered a faint, tired smile. “Almost human again.”

  A small smile touched her lips despite her inner turmoil. She moved quietly to prepare a simple meal from the stored supplies—cup noodles, coffee, small comforts in their sparse refuge. Noah watched her silently from the futon, his gaze softening as he observed her quiet, methodical movements.

  “Instant noodles at your home, cup noodles here—when will you admit you have a problem?” she teased lightly, glancing over her shoulder at him.

  He smiled softly. “I just have cultural pride.”

  She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “You have Korean noodles at home and these are Japanese.”

  “I’m proud of all cultures,” he responded quickly, grinning slightly.

  Vivian shook her head and smiled despite herself, warmth flickering briefly between them.

  For just a moment, Noah recalled the fierce girl she’d once been, tiny fists flying without hesitation to defend him, her eyes blazing defiantly despite her size. Even then, he’d savored drawing out her softer side, stealing smiles from her amidst the bruises and shadows. It seemed some things hadn’t changed. Noah’s eyes fell on her hand, noting the stitches still in place.

  “Those stitches will need to come out soon,” he observed gently.

  Vivian nodded quietly. “I figured you’d have that covered.”

  Noah smiled softly, his voice quiet but teasing. “That much trust in me? I’m touched, Viv.”

  Her smile faltered slightly, wariness flickering briefly in her gaze. Noah’s expression sobered, his gaze quietly steady.

  “You can trust me, Viv,” he murmured quietly, understanding perfectly why she might not—why she couldn’t.

  Vivian’s thoughts returned sharply to Mochi’s pleas, the ease with which Noah had ended her life despite years of apparent friendship. Trust seemed dangerous in Noah’s world, but then she remembered vividly how he’d protected her, the lengths he had gone to keep her safe. The conflict twisted sharply within her, unresolved and painful.

  She changed the subject gently, steering them back toward the immediate problem at hand. “I need to know how we can find this Key person.”

  Noah nodded, having expected this. “I know some people we can reach out to,” he said. “We can head out tomorrow.”

  He rubbed his chin slightly. “But before that, we kind of need a makeover.”

  Vivian arched a brow. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Noah grinned, clearly amused by her expression. “Well, Vivian Jiang and Noah Fang are dead. Would be weird if their ghosts just started popping up all over the place.”

  Vivian stared at him for a long moment, processing his words. She understood logically, of course—it made perfect sense. But the idea of changing herself, even just superficially, was strangely unsettling. It felt too much like admitting that the life she had known was genuinely over.

  She glanced around the small storage unit again, noting how carefully Noah had organized everything—food, clothing, medical supplies, even burner phones. It struck her again how deeply he must have lived this way, constantly preparing for the moment he’d need to vanish. She wasn’t sure she was ready to admit it, but this—this precise, paranoid preparation—might be the very reason they were both alive now.

  She sighed, giving him a small, begrudging nod. “I suppose you’re right.”

  His grin widened slightly, relieved at her agreement, though he carefully tempered his reaction, conscious of the complex emotions clearly flickering through her expression.

  Vivian leaned back against one of the shelves, folding her arms protectively around herself. Her gaze flicked to his bandaged arm again, the blood-stained bandage a stark reminder of everything he had risked for her. Despite everything—despite her uncertainty, despite the gnawing questions—she felt strangely anchored by his presence.

  And for the moment, that would have to be enough.