Chapter 2 Blood, Glass, and Shadows

The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened with its memory. Steam rose from the sewer grates as Adrian and Vivian burst into the alley behind the Tribeca penthouse. Vivian's bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, her breath short and sharp. Adrian winced with every step-his ribs burned where the enforcer's fist had landed, and blood from a shallow cut above his eyebrow traced a sticky path down his temple.

"Where are we going?" Adrian hissed, glancing over his shoulder. No one yet, but they'd be coming.

Vivian didn't answer. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the service corridor of a high-end bakery, dodging past racks of croissants and confused staff. The kitchen smelled of vanilla and roasted almonds. It was absurd, unreal-this sterile, sweet-scented place while his heart thudded with the rhythm of survival.

A teenage baker pointed with a spatula. "Hey! You can't be-"

Vivian shoved open a back door before he could finish.

Outside again, the street opened up to SoHo's chaotic sprawl of boutique storefronts, yellow cabs, and umbrella-wielding tourists. She ducked into the crowd, and Adrian followed, trying to process what had just happened. His wife-his dead wife-was alive, barefoot, and dragging him through downtown Manhattan as if her life depended on it.

Because it did.

"That man-Damien Wolfe-he's tracking everything," she panted. "Phones, cameras, traffic lights. You can't stop moving once you're in his crosshairs."

"You lied to me!" Adrian barked. "You let me believe you were dead!"

Vivian stopped under the awning of a bookstore. The storm had smeared mascara across her face, and her eyes-once soft, now hardened-met his with a fire that hadn't been there when she left him.

"You think I had a choice?" she shot back. "You think I wanted this?"

"You faked your death, Vivian!"

"And I did it to stay alive!" she snapped. "There were debts, Adrian-dangerous ones. People coming after me. Wolfe offered a way out. Disappear. Erase everything."

Adrian stared at her. "And I was part of that 'everything'?"

A car screeched to a stop down the street. Black SUV. Tinted windows. Too polished for tourists.

Vivian's eyes widened. "Move. Now."

They bolted down Lafayette Street. Horns blared. A vendor cursed as Adrian shoved past his hot dog cart. Behind them, the SUV growled forward like a predator through the crowd.

Vivian veered into an alley behind an art gallery. Adrian stumbled after her, breath ragged. The alley was narrow and reeked of garbage and spilled paint thinner. Rats skittered into shadows. A fire escape loomed above, its rusted ladder just out of reach.

"Give me a boost," Vivian said.

He laced his fingers, and she stepped into them, pushing off the ground. She caught the bottom rung and pulled herself up with surprising strength. Adrian jumped, caught it, and climbed just as the SUV screeched to a halt.

Two men burst from the vehicle, guns drawn.

"Vivian!" one shouted. "Don't make this worse!"

Adrian kept climbing. The metal groaned under his weight.

Vivian reached the top first and swung onto the rooftop. Adrian scrambled up behind her as bullets punched through the bricks below. One nicked the metal ladder. Sparks flew.

They dropped flat on the gravel-coated rooftop, panting.

Vivian pulled out a burner phone from inside her blouse. She dialed fast, whispering into the receiver.

"They found us... yes, now... yes, rooftop on Prince and Lafayette... tell Marcus to bring the bike... no, we can't wait-"

Adrian stared at her. "Who the hell is Marcus?"

Vivian met his eyes. "Someone who actually knows how deep Wolfe's rabbit hole goes."

From below, the men shouted. A door slammed open. Heavy boots echoed up the stairwell.

Adrian rose to his knees. "We're trapped."

Vivian looked to the opposite edge of the roof. "Not yet."

She ran. Adrian followed. Another rooftop lay across a ten-foot gap. The street yawned below, filled with honking taxis and gawking pedestrians.

"You're insane," Adrian muttered.

Vivian didn't answer. She sprinted and leapt.

She cleared the gap, her landing rough but steady. She turned, breathless. "Come on!"

Adrian backed up, heart pounding.

"You always hated heights," she said.

"I also hated thinking my wife was dead," he growled.

Then he ran.

The wind screamed past his ears. His foot hit the ledge and he launched.

The city dropped away beneath him.

He landed hard. Pain shot up his shins, but he was alive. Vivian grabbed his arm, hauling him forward.

Behind them, the rooftop door slammed open. Shouts rang out.

Vivian led them into a rooftop stairwell, spiraling down into the skeleton of a building under construction. Tools littered the floor. Exposed wires dangled from open walls.

Adrian tripped over a bucket. Vivian helped him up.

An engine roared outside.

Vivian peeked out a shattered window. Her shoulders relaxed. "Marcus is here."

A sleek motorcycle glided into view, black and gleaming. The rider-leather jacket, mirrored helmet-pulled up beside the scaffolding.

Vivian yanked Adrian's sleeve. "We're jumping again."

"You're-what?!" he gasped.

She climbed onto the ledge, crouching. "We land on the scaffolding. It'll hold. Marcus will get us out."

He looked down. The metal mesh below swayed in the wind, four stories up.

Vivian jumped.

She rolled on impact, then stood, waving. "Your turn!"

Adrian climbed onto the ledge.

Breathe.

Jump.

He fell, hit the scaffolding, rolled, and nearly slid off-but Vivian caught his arm.

Together, they climbed down and mounted the bike. Marcus nodded.

"Hang on," Vivian said.

Then they vanished into the city.

The bike screamed through Chinatown's tight alleys, past neon dragons and flickering lanterns. Adrian clung to Vivian as she navigated the chaos with terrifying precision.

"Where are we going?" he shouted over the wind.

Vivian leaned in. "Safehouse. Brooklyn. Someone who can help us disappear-again."

Adrian gritted his teeth. "I'm not disappearing. I want answers."

She didn't reply.

They crossed the Manhattan Bridge, the East River glinting below like black oil. Storm clouds brewed overhead again, pregnant with rain.

In Red Hook, the bike slowed beside an old warehouse. Metal shutters, graffiti-tagged walls, a row of abandoned trucks. Marcus knocked four times, paused, then once more.

A slot opened.

A man's voice: "Password?"

Vivian: "Ashes don't lie."

The door groaned open.

Inside was dark-except for the glow of monitors, a bank of servers humming. A man with an eyepatch sat behind a desk cluttered with cables and coffee cups.

He looked up. "Vivian. Didn't expect you this early."

"They found us," she said.

He glanced at Adrian. "And the husband rises from the dead."

Adrian stepped forward. "You know who I am?"

"Everyone in this circle does," the man replied. "Wolfe's obsession with you is borderline mythological."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "Why?"

The man stood, pulling down a projection screen. A paused video blinked to life-grainy footage from a traffic cam.

It showed Adrian. Sitting at a café.

Vivian wasn't in the frame.

"This was last week," the man said. "You've been watched. Wolfe's AI taps every camera, traffic light, drone. It profiles behavior, patterns, even emotional states."

Adrian felt cold. "Why me?"

Vivian answered. "Because I told him you were harmless. That you'd never look. But you did. You looked too deep."

The one-eyed man added, "Wolfe doesn't tolerate disobedience. You're both targets now. He'll wipe you clean if he can."

Adrian turned to Vivian. "So what's the plan?"

She looked at him-truly looked. Not as a woman escaping her husband. Not as a stranger.

As someone who realized they might have just destroyed the only man who ever truly loved her.

"Now?" she said. "Now we fight."