Nyra knew she was in trouble the moment the gates opened.
Not gates.
Statements.
Iron slid apart smoothly, revealing the same long driveway she'd walked once before daylight, laughter, an assignment deadline hanging over her head. Back then, she'd come and gone the same day.
Tonight, she wasn't visiting.
She leaned back in the car seat, shoulder dull with pain. "This place still feels like I need permission to breathe."
Elias smiled faintly. "You survived it once."
"Barely," she muttered.
The mansion rose ahead of them stone, glass, lights glowing with deliberate calm. Safe in a way that made her uneasy. This wasn't Eastside safe. This was untouchable safe.
Inside, everything was exactly as she remembered.
High ceilings. Art that watched you back. Floors polished enough to reflect guilt. Her sneakers squeaked anyway.
"Still not built for people like me," Nyra said.
Elias laughed under his breath. "You say that every time."
Mara appeared from the hallway, her expression shifting the moment she noticed Nyra's posture, the careful way she held her shoulder.
"Nyra," she said gently. "You're hurt."
Nyra shrugged. "I've had worse."
Mara didn't ask how. Didn't ask why. She only nodded once. "You'll rest here tonight."
Nyra hesitated. "I didn't plan "
"I know," Mara said softly. "Plans change."
Dinner felt familiar but heavier.
Same table. Same warmth. Different silence. Nyra ate slower than usual, thoughts elsewhere. Elias filled the gaps, rambling about work, about nothing, about everything.
"So," Nyra said eventually, glancing at the table. "You people still eat like diplomats or did I miss the pizza phase?"
Mara smiled. "Tomorrow."
Nyra nodded. "Good. I don't trust myself around expensive cutlery."
Later, she stood by the wide window overlooking the city, arms crossed loosely. She'd admired this view before. Tonight, it felt like distance made visible.
Elias joined her. "You don't have to explain anything."
"I know," she said. "That's why I stayed."
He studied her carefully. "You'll be safe here."
Nyra exhaled slowly. "I hate that word."
"I figured."
She was set up on the couch that night blankets, pillows, quiet efficiency. No ceremony. No pretending this was normal. Just shelter.
As the lights dimmed, Nyra stared at the ceiling.
No sirens.
No engines.
No city breathing against her neck.
She hated how calm it felt.
"This is temporary," she whispered.
The mansion stayed silent.
And far away, the Eastside kept moving.