Page 68 of Infamous

I look at the mirror one last time.

My reflection is shaking, lips trembling, eyes wet and furious.

I survived. That’s supposed to mean something.

But as I stare at the woman who did, I can’t help thinking - maybe she didn’t survive at all. Maybe she just traded one kind of danger for another.

And this time, she’s not sure she wants to be saved.

42

LUCIAN

She opens the door slow - like she already knows it’s me, but part of her is conflicted.

Through the peephole, I see her shadow pause. I imagine that her breath catches, her hand frozen on the chain lock.

I stay perfectly still, both palms braced against the doorframe, my head bowed like I’m praying for permission. The corridor hums with the low buzz of a flickering light, and for a moment, it’s just us - two hearts pulsing on either side of a door that’s done pretending it can keep us apart.

Then she opens it.

And all the air between us changes.

Nadia’s eyes lift to mine - wide, cautious, curious. She’s barefoot, in a loose gray T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Her lip is split, swollen, the bruise just beginning to bloom. There’s something about her - fragile and furious all at once - that hits me like a blade between the ribs.

Her gaze drops over me. She notices things. The fresh shirt. The damp hair. The faint trace of soap clinging to me instead ofblood. I don’t know why that matters to her, but it does. I see it in the way her throat works when she swallows.

Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. “Jude.”

I lift my head slowly, deliberately. Let her see all of me in the dim light. The exhaustion. The edge. The thing she should fear but doesn’t.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches until it starts to feel like a heartbeat of its own.

Then I just say it. “He won’t ever bother you again.”

The words land between us, heavy and final.

A shiver runs through her, but it’s not the kind born of fear. There’s something else in her eyes - something that glints like thrill, like forbidden relief. “What did you do to him?” she asks, her voice trembling.

I hold her gaze. “I convinced him he doesn’t have a place in your life.”

She breathes in, shallow and shaky, and then does something that unravels me completely.

She tips her head. Steps back. An invitation.

I shouldn’t move. I should walk away, disappear into the night, let her believe the lie I just told.

But she’s standing there, open door and open eyes, and I’m too far gone to pretend I’m anything other than hers.

I step inside.

The door clicks shut behind me, sealing us in. I stand there for a beat, unsure what to do with my hands, my breath, the pounding in my chest that shouldn’t exist the way it does.

She moves first. Walks to the sofa and sits, tucking one leg beneath her. I follow, taking the far end of the two-seater. The space feels too small for the both of us. My knees angle out, the leather creaking under my weight.

She sits across from me, her eyes searching, restless. “Where is he?” she asks softly.

“Away.”