Page 19 of Twisted Violet

I fighta smile.

“Not like that, I just thought with work…” she trails off. “You live here?”

“Sometimes.”

She swallows. “Why’d you bring me here?”

Because no one else gets this. Because I don’t want anyone seeing you like this but me. Because you’re shaking like you might come apart, and for some reason, I can’t fucking stand the idea of anyone else putting you back together.

“It’s safe.” I say.

That’s all I give her, but it’s the truth.

It’s the only place in the world I trust. My sanctuary. And now… I’m letting her in it.

The elevator opens into a quiet hallway. Minimalist. Clean. My door is on the right. With no number to identify it, just a biometric scanner.

She doesn’t say anything as I press my thumb to the reader.

When the door clicks open, I see her hesitate. Maybe because she’s nervous. Maybe because she knows, intuitively, that this is something I don’t share and yet, here I am, sharing it with her.

She steps inside and looks around.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Concrete walls. Matte finishes. Everything sharp, cold, and calculated - everything except for her.

She stands there dripping in the middle of it all, towel still wrapped around her shoulders, her wet clothes clinging to her frame, and for a second the whole place feels warmer. Like maybe bringing her here was as much for me as it was for her.

She stands there, still trembling, as the silence folds in around us. Then finally she speaks.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” The words are quiet. Raw. “I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do, and I just… I’m sorry.”

I step closer and rest my hands on her shoulders. “Don’t apologize.”

Her arms cross over her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I shot someone, Niko.”

“You defended yourself.”

Her voice cracks. “That doesn’t make it better.”

I shake my head. “But it’s the truth.”

She looks at me.

“He’s dead because of me,” she whispers. “I know he was trying to hurt me, but I… I didn’t want to be that person.”

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a sob. “But I am now, aren’t I? I’m a killer. A monster.”

That word lingers in the air between us, and something in me shifts. I don’t know how to fix this, but I need to do something for her.

I step forward and reach for her hands.

She doesn’t pull away.

“You’re not a monster,” I say, low and steady. “I’ve worked for monsters. You’re not even close.”

Her eyes flick up, glassy and wide.

“If you were truly like them…” I say, my voice steady. “I wouldn’t have brought you here.”