Yuri Briar had always known bitterness like a second language.

After Yor’s marriage, it stopped being background noise and became a constant ache. He told himself it was righteous anger. A brother’s concern. A citizen’s suspicion. Anything but what it really was.

He threw himself deeper into work because work was clean. Work had rules. Work did not smile at him apologetically and say things like, I’m happy, Yuri.

That night, the city felt wrong. Too quiet. Too narrow.

The man came at him fast, a blur of fists and metal. Yuri registered pain in neat compartments, ribs first, then shoulder, then the sharp warmth of blood near his temple. He countered on instinct, training overriding irritation, but his footing slipped. Wet pavement. Bad angle.

For half a second, he miscalculated.

The opponent’s arm came down, heavy and certain, and Yuri knew he wouldn’t block it in time.

Something struck the man’s head with a dull, hollow sound.

Not a fist. Not a weapon.

A purse.

The attacker staggered, swore, and Yuri didn’t waste the opening. He drove his elbow in, twisted, sent the man crashing into the alley wall. By the time the body hit the ground, the fight was over.

A voice cut through the aftermath, thin and panicked.

“AHHH! What have I done?”

Yuri turned.

She stood frozen at the mouth of the alley like she had wandered into the wrong story. Young. Expensive coat, the kind that never saw rain unless someone else held an umbrella. Her eyes were wide, glossy with terror, fixed on the man sprawled on the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted, hands shaking. “He was going to kill you, I think, and I didn’t know what else to do and I just—”

Before Yuri could speak, she slipped off one heel and threw it.

It hit the man square in the face.

She winced. “To make sure he doesn’t get up.”

Yuri stared at her.

Most civilians screamed. Most ran. Some fainted.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yuri said sharply. His voice slipped into the tone he used during interrogations without him meaning it to. Controlled. Cold. “Do you have any idea what you just involved yourself in?”

Her breath hitched. “I didn’t mean to. I just saw him corner you and I thought… I thought if I didn’t do something—”

She stopped, biting her lip hard enough to leave a mark.

That was when Yuri noticed the Desmond crest on her purse.

Of course.

Great.

The irony would have been funny if it weren’t a problem waiting to explode.

“Go,” Yuri said. “Now.”

She hesitated. “But you’re bleeding.”

“I’ll live.”

She flinched at the edge in his voice but nodded, scrambling to retrieve her heel with clumsy fingers. As she backed away, she tripped on the curb, barely catching herself.

Then she ran.

Yuri stood alone in the alley, the sound of her footsteps fading. He pressed a hand to his temple and exhaled slowly.

A Desmond. Interfering in state business. Saving a secret police officer without knowing it.

This was going to be a disaster.

— He definitely didn’t expect to see her name on a threat assessment file.

{{user}} Desmond. Age. Family ties. Social profile. Potential leverage.

Target. — A junior officer spoke too fast, nervous.

“Attempted poisoning at a private charity gala,” he said. “Substance unidentified. Miss Desmond survived due to delayed exposure. We believe the assassin will try again.”

And he was assigned.

— Miss Desmond did not look like someone who believed she was safe.

She sat stiffly in her family’s private sitting room, hands folded too carefully in her lap, eyes flicking to every shadow. The elegance expected of her was there, but it cracked at the edges if you watched long enough.

When Yuri entered, dressed in an unremarkable suit, she looked up.

Her eyes widened.

“You,”

Yuri resisted the urge to sigh. “We’ve met. What happened that night isn’t important. You’re in danger.”

“I’m assigned to protect you,” Yuri continued. “Think of me as a bodyguard. I’ll be nearby at all times.”