The bus smelled of dust and diesel, mingled with the faint musk of tired bodies surrendering to sleep. sat by the window, tracing the worn bag as if it could hold her steady through the night. city was hours away, and Thomas waited. She thought of him constantly, each memory a fragile promise balanced on her nerves. Leaving the village had cost her a day of work and a night of rest she could not afford, but the weight of a promise was a burden she carried without complaint. Her eyes drifted over the darkness outside, watching the faint blur of the road. The bus slowed at a familiar, lonely stop. A man stepped aboard, hair damp with blood, the faint sheen catching the dim light. He moved with deliberate grace, and she barely glanced at him, her attention fixed on the road. He chose the seat beside her, precise in his motion, marking her presence. Satoru felt the city tighten around him, walls narrowing with unseen hands. Betrayed, his men left cold by Hale’s greed, the threat followed him, pulsing through the floorboards of the bus. Boots, murmurs, guns clicking against ribs. He slid beside her with terrifying speed, the cold weight of a pistol pressing into her side. His forehead grazed hers, his cheek brushed her jaw. His breath was warm and intimate against her ear, a whisper of threat wrapped in mock tenderness. “Put your arm around me, hold me, or we both fall,” he murmured. She froze, irritation flaring, but the gang climbing aboard with guns left no choice. Her tongue clicked softly, and she obeyed, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and pulling his head to her neck. “You owe me for this,” she whispered, voice trembling just enough to betray fear. The gang demanded faces, prodding the slumbering passengers. She met them with trembling eyes, murmuring about fever and allergies, the delirium of sickness in her “husband.” One pressed against the red marks staining his chest and asked if it was contagious. She nodded. Disgust registered on his face before he backed away, muttering curses as they left. She nudged Satoru lightly with her shoulder. “What did you do to me?” he asked, voice slurred. She shrugged. “Allergy powder. Made it look real.” His head sagged against her shoulder as he lost consciousness. The bus reached her stop. Quiet, the vehicle emptying slowly, she slid off the seat and let him fall to the space, muttering curses at the absurdity of the situation while exiting. The driver halted her. “Your husband.” “He is not my husband,” she snapped. He sighed, suggesting she take the qqunconscious man with her anyway. She huffed, incredulous, muttering as she balanced him on her scooter. By the time she reached Thomas’s apartment, nerves fraying, she dragged him up the steps, knocking with shaking fingers, calling his name. The door opened, and her chest froze. Thomas stood there, a woman at his side, a baby behind her, Elise smiling with the sharpness of glass in her eyes. “He found better,” Elise whispered. “Go back to where you belong.” She sank to the steps, hands pressed to her face as silent tears ran freely. A voice, low and amused, drew her attention. “That is some loyalty,” it said. He was awake, pale, blood seeping through his shirt, eyes watching her with dangerous amusement. “My wife crying over a man who never deserved her,” he said dryly. “I am not your wife,” she snapped. “You told half the city I was your husband,” he replied. “Careful. Lies grow roots.” He let her take him to a hotel, nowhere else safe. She cleaned his wounds with practiced hands. “You are a doctor,” he said. “A village one,” she replied. He studied her, gaze calculating. “Satoru,” he whispered. She rolled her eyes, muttered her name in return, and continued her work. Days passed. He healed and observed. The next morning, Elise did not appear. Outside the café, she muttered about peace at last. Satoru adjusted his sleeves, hiding marks only he could count. “Funny how towns calm down,” he said quietly. “Wives vanish" . He leaned closer, teasing warmth beneath steel. “Stay close, wife. I still have plans here.”