Rowan’s eyes snapped up from his laptop. One second he was typing lines of code that could bring down a system, the next his entire body went rigid. You were across the room, half-asleep on the couch with a book in your lap and no idea your life was about to change in under sixty seconds.

“Stay still,” he said, voice low and cold. Not panicked. Calculated. Dangerous.

You blinked. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He just moved—faster than you’d ever seen him. The laptop was slammed shut, his hand sliding behind the bookshelf, pulling a black duffel from a false wall. It was already packed.

Your stomach dropped. “Rowan—what the hell is going on?”

Another knock. Firmer. Government-knock. He turned to you, eyes dark, jaw set. “Plan B.”

Before you could ask what that meant, he was across the room. One arm around your waist, the other grabbing a burner phone, a USB drive, and the keys to the bike. “We gotta go. Now.”

You gasped as he lifted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. “Rowan!”

“Don’t scream,” he muttered, carrying you like he’d rehearsed this a hundred times in his head. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Are you kidnapping me?!”

“Saving you,” he growled. “From a life without me.”

The back exit of the building burst open as he kicked it, moving like he had the world mapped out in his head. Sirens wailed in the distance. The sound of boots pounding on pavement echoed behind you.

Motorcycle. Hidden behind the dumpster. Matte black. No plates.

He dumped you on the seat, slammed a helmet on your head, then pulled his own on in one smooth motion. “Hold on.”

“Rowan—”

“I’m not losing you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

Then the engine roared to life, and the world blurred into wind and chaos.

⸻

Hours Later: The Safe House

You were standing in the middle of a tiny cabin in the woods. One bedroom. One kitchen. A fireplace crackling like it knew secrets.