COLLATERAL NIGHT
The sun had long disappeared behind the city skyline, leaving the Vale estate bathed in golden lamplight and shadows that seemed to move when she wasn't looking.
Runa lay stiffly on the wide, unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling.
The sheets smelled faintly of lavender—and something else beneath it. Something cold. Something expensive.
Money.
Power.
Control.
She didn't dare move yet. Every creak of the house sounded like footsteps drawing closer, like doors opening where they shouldn't. The estate never truly slept. It only waited.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind.
You'll always be safe.
A hollow promise.
It had only been two days.
Two days—and she'd nearly been killed.
When they returned from the city, the house had exploded into motion.
Toni had been swarmed instantly—maids fussing over her lip, Aurora hovering anxiously, Roman's voice tight with barely restrained anger. Someone brought ice. Someone else brought clean clothes. Toni had been ushered away like fragile porcelain.
A princess.
Eli hadn't received the same treatment.
Runa had watched from a distance as Roman's voice cut through the hall.
"You were responsible," he said sharply.
Eli stood straight, hands clasped behind her back. Silent. Unflinching.
Althea joined in, arms crossed. "Why did you let them wander around?"
"I didn't," Eli replied calmly. "I assumed Albert was doing his job. I was occupied."
"That assumption almost got your sister killed."
Toni, pale but furious, had pushed herself upright.
"Stop," she said. "This was my decision. I dragged Runa out. I told Albert to stay behind.Dont vent it out on El"
She looked directly at Roman. "Don't punish Albert. And don't punish Eli."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Roman's jaw tightened—but he said nothing.
And that, Runa realized, was the closest thing to mercy this family offered.
What unsettled her more than anything was this:
She wasn't treated like a prisoner.
There were guards, yes—always within sight, always listening. But there were no chains. No locked doors. No threats beyond the ones already implied by the estate itself.
It was as if the Vales didn't fear her escape.
As if they knew she had nowhere to go.
Earlier that afternoon, Aurora had sent for her.
"Althea wants you nearby," she'd said lightly. "You might as well be useful."
Runa had ended up sitting stiffly in Althea's office, perched on the edge of a chair far too elegant for her to feel comfortable in.
Althea paced while on the phone.
"…numbers don't match," she snapped.
"No. I don't care how you fix it. I care that it's fixed."
"…guns, not excuses."
Every so often, Althea's gaze would cut to Runa—sharp, assessing, irritated.
At one point she'd ended the call and said flatly, "If you're going to sit there, make yourself useful. Coffee."
Runa had nodded quickly, grateful for something to do.
She'd returned minutes later—
And tripped.
The coffee spilled in a dark arc across the desk, soaking into neatly stacked documents.
Time froze.
Althea stared at the mess.
Then at Runa.
"Get out," she said softly.
Runa didn't argue.
She fled the room, cheeks burning, heart hammering.
That had been the end of her usefulness.
Now, restless and unable to breathe inside the mansion any longer, Runa wandered the grounds.
The estate was massive—too big to feel real. Rows of cars gleamed under security lights. Motorcycles stood lined like soldiers. ATVs rested near a training field she didn't recognize.
She wondered, briefly, how far she could get if she ran.
Not far, she decided.
Not alive.
She turned a corner—
And stopped.
She passed through the staff quarters, but stopped dead when she saw a silhouette near the back entrance. Jason. He was laughing softly, his arm braced against the wall as he cornered two maids. His hand was sliding along a waist that didn't belong to him, his blonde hair glowing under the dim security light. He wore a slick, greasy grin that didn't reach his eyes, leaning in closer until the women visibly recoiled from his cloying cologne and the damp heat radiating off him. "Come on now," he murmured, his voice dripping with unearned confidence, "don't be shy." He looked entirely too pleased with himself, like a predator toying with prey, completely oblivious to the sour distaste twisting the girls' mouths.
Runa felt a wave of nausea. He looked like his father, but with a layer of rot that even the expensive cologne couldn't hide. She ducked behind a stone pillar, holding her breath until the sound of his charming, poisonous laughter faded.
That was when she saw Eli.
Eli moved alone along the far edge of the property, steps soundless, posture relaxed but alert—like someone who expected trouble even in their own home.
Runa followed without thinking.
A mistake.
She took three steps—
And suddenly Eli was behind her.
Runa was slammed gently but firmly against the wall, Eli's forearm pressing across her chest, her presence overwhelming.
"Don't," Eli said sharply.
Then she saw Runa's face.
Eli froze.
She stepped back instantly. "It's you."
Eli studied her for a long moment, her blue eyes scanning Runa's face as if looking for a lie. Finally, she sighed and stepped back, her presence still overwhelming even in the open air. "You shouldn't follow people here. In this house, shadows are usually armed."
"I know," Runa said quietly. "I just didn't have anything else to do."
Eli looked at the mansion, then back at Runa. "Fine," she said, her voice flat but not unkind. "Stay close."
They ended up at a private shooting range tucked behind the equipment sheds. Floodlights illuminated the targets—silhouettes of men, riddled with holes. Eli didn't offer Runa a gun. She didn't offer her a lesson. She simply gestured to a bench set far back in the shadows. "Sit."
Runa obeyed, watching as Eli stepped into the light.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Eli stepped forward alone, selecting a handgun with practiced ease.
The first shot cracked through the night.
Bullseye.
The second.
Bullseye.
Again.
And again.
Runa watched in stunned silence as Eli reloaded, adjusted her stance, and continued—every movement precise, controlled, lethal.
The last shell casing hit the ground with a faint metallic clink.
Eli lowered the gun, checking it with practiced efficiency before setting it aside. She didn't look back at Runa. Instead, she stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on the targets as if listening for something only she could hear.
Runa remained seated on the bench, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She should stay quiet.
She knew that.
But the silence pressed in too hard.
"You're… really good," she said finally.
Her voice sounded small in the open space.
Eli didn't respond.
She moved to collect the spent casings, methodical, precise. As if Runa hadn't spoken at all.
Runa swallowed.
"I didn't know you liked shooting," she added, immediately regretting it. *Stupid. Of course she likes shooting.*
Still—nothing.
Eli finished gathering the casings and placed them neatly into a container. Only then did she glance over her shoulder, eyes sharp but unreadable.
"It's not something I like," she said.
Runa blinked. "Oh."
Eli turned fully this time, leaning back against the table. Her arms crossed—not defensive, but closed. Final.
"It's something I'm good at," she continued. "There's a difference."
Runa nodded slowly, absorbing that.
They fell into silence again.
This one felt heavier.
After a moment, Runa spoke again, softer. "You didn't have to come earlier. Back in the alley."
Eli's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I did," she said.
"Why?"
The word slipped out before Runa could stop it.
Eli didn't answer right away.
Her gaze drifted back to the range, to the targets riddled with clean, perfect holes. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat.
"Toni doesn't know when to stop."
Runa frowned slightly. "That's… not really an answer."
Eli's eyes flicked to her.
For a split second, something sharp flared there—annoyance, maybe. Or exhaustion.
"She's my sister," Eli said finally. "That's enough."
Runa hesitated. Then, quietly, "Then why protect me?"
That did it.
Eli turned fully toward her now, expression tightening like a door being forced open.
"I don't want to owe anyone," Runa said quickly. "I'm not asking for—m"
"I know," Eli cut in.Eli turned fully toward her. The floodlights caught the edge of her face, making her look like a statue of a fallen angel. "You're not invisible, Runa. And you're not stupid. You shouldn't be here. None of this should be on you."
Runa stared at her. It was the first time a Vale had acknowledged her humanity.
"I thought you hated me," Runa admitted.
Eli scoffed, a tiny, rare sound of genuine emotion. "I don't hate you. Hating you would mean I feel something about your father's choices. I don't." She looked away, her voice dropping. "I don't feel anything. That's the point."
The words hurt more than Runa expected.
Still, she nodded. "Okay."
Another pause.
Then, quieter, almost forced: "Just—stay where I can see you," Eli added.
Runa's heart skipped.
"Okay," she said again.
Eli picked up the gun, checking it once more before locking it away.
As they walked back toward the mansion, Runa realized something unsettling and strange.
Eli didn't talk much.
Didn't explain herself.
Didn't promise safety.
But when she said *stay*—
She meant it.
And for now, that was enough.