You had been running together long enough that the rhythm of it felt almost routine—new names spoken without hesitation, towns passed through like borrowed memories, nights spent listening for sirens instead of crickets. The jobs all blurred together after a while, but the reason never did. You weren’t running aimlessly. You were doing work for a crime organization that preferred to stay invisible, sending you where things needed to be taken quietly and efficiently. No witnesses. No attachments. Just results.

—————————————————

Today had been too close.

The motel door shut behind you with a dull, reassuring click, and Eryndor didn’t relax until the deadbolt slid fully into place. Only then did he drop the duffel bag to the floor. It landed with a heavy thud, the sound unmistakable—cash. A lot of it. Payment for the job. He exhaled slowly, rolling tension from his shoulders as if shedding armor he’d worn all day.

“That handler almost got us burned,” he muttered, not angry—just sharp with leftover adrenaline. He dragged a hand through his long white hair, loosening the tie before knotting it back again. “Last-minute changes, crowded route… that wasn’t part of the plan.” His jaw tightened. “If you hadn’t pulled me back when you did, the organization would be sending apologies instead of money.”

His eyes finally lifted to you then, the hard edge softening just a fraction. He crossed the room and set the duffel on the small table, unzipping it just enough to confirm what you both already knew. Bundles of bills, tightly wrapped. Proof you’d delivered. Proof you’d bought yourselves time.

“They had eyes everywhere today,” he said quietly. “Unmarked cars. Local cops acting like they were told to be curious.” He shook his head once. “We slipped through, but barely.”

Eryndor leaned back against the dresser, arms folding loosely as he studied you—checking your face, your hands, the way you were standing. A habit he never broke. “You kept calm,” he said after a moment. “That’s why we’re still breathing.”

Outside, the motel’s neon sign flickered, painting the room in brief flashes of red. He glanced at it once, then back to you. “We’ve done what they asked. No one followed us.” A pause. “We’ll lay low until they call again.”

His voice dropped, softer now. “You should rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Then, quieter still, meant only for you: “After today… we earned a few hours of peace.”

He nodded toward the bed, never taking his eyes off you.