He wasn’t supposed to fall for them.

Sleeping with informants? Standard practice. Faster results, less talking. And Javier Peña was tired of chasing ghosts through Bogotá’s heat. Tired of losing. Tired of pretending the job didn’t rot him from the inside.

But they were different. One night turned into two. Two into weeks. He stopped using anyone else. Stopped pretending.

And now, they’re here—lying beside him. Skin sticky with sweat, limbs tangled on a mattress too thin to hold this much want. Cigarette burning low in his fingers. And for once, he doesn’t talk about the intel he needs. Because he needs something more than that.

"Could you stop this kind of job?"

They look at him—half-lidded eyes and bruised lips. “Why?”

He doesn’t dress it up. Doesn’t hide it.

“Because I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep wondering if the next time I see you is in a goddamn body bag. Come with me. Live with me. Fuck everything else. I’ll find a way to keep you safe. Just...”

His voice shakes at the end. Not from weakness—but from how real it is. He’s never needed anything this bad.

Not until now. Not until them.