Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Dawn bled through the worn curtains, casting pale light across Evelyn’s living room, turning it into a wash of muted grays. Evelyn sat perched on the couch’s edge, every muscle coiled tight. An invisible cloak hung over Chloe and Liam, cast by the man holding a gun.

Chloe was small, fragile, her body curled into the armchair like she was trying to shrink into the cushions. Her wide eyes were locked on Bishop’s gun, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Across the room, Liam sat stiffly in a kitchen chair, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the man in front of them.

Bishop. Ex-operator, worn down by time and whatever battle had led him here. His clothes were dry, his leg bandaged, but the wound still bled through the fabric. His eyelids drooped, barely holding on, but the gun in his hand stayed firmly in place. It wasn’t pointed at them, but its presence was as heavy as the morning air.

Evelyn’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears. This was her home he’d barged into, her daughter he was threatening. And Bishop, a wounded animal backed into a corner, was a threat she didn’t know how to neutralize.

The clock ticked, filling the silence with a steady, unbearable rhythm. Then, Chloe’s breath hitched—sharp and panicked.

“Mom ...” Her voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible over the tension in the room.

Chloe’s small body trembled, her breath quickening, spiraling out of control. Evelyn knew the signs—Chloe was on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.

“Sweetheart, breathe with me,” Evelyn said softly, keeping her voice calm even though her insides were screaming. “Just focus on me.”

Before she could move closer, Bishop’s voice broke through, low and controlled. "Kid. Look at me."

Evelyn froze. She hadn’t expected him to speak, let alone try to help. Her pulse spiked, but Chloe’s wide eyes shifted to Bishop, locking onto him like a lifeline.

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth,” Bishop instructed, his voice steady, almost hypnotic. “Focus. Just breathe.”

Chloe’s breaths were still fast, but she tried to follow his lead, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain control. Bishop’s calm tone cut through her panic like a knife, guiding her step by step.

"That's it," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "In … out … slower now."

Evelyn watched, stunned, as Chloe’s breathing began to even out, her trembling subsiding with each deliberate breath. The panic attack that had threatened to consume her slowly ebbed away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Better?” Bishop asked, his voice still low.

Chloe sobbed weakly, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice so small, it barely registered.

Bishop leaned back in the chair, his eyes drifting closed, the gun slipping to rest loosely in his hand. He was exhausted, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Bishop muttered, his voice gravelly from fatigue. “I just need to rest ... then I’ll be gone.”

Evelyn’s muscles relaxed, but only a fraction. The fear that had gripped her heart loosened, but it didn’t disappear. This man was still dangerous, but he was something more. His actions didn’t fit the picture of the man she’d feared.

Bishop kept his eyes closed and his grip on the gun. “I’m not your enemy.”

The tension in the room shifted, morphing from raw fear to uncertainty. Liam, still seated near the kitchen, broke the silence with a hard edge in his voice.

“Then why the hell are you still holding that gun?”

Bishop’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking open to meet Liam’s glare. “Can’t afford to take any chances. Not yet."

Evelyn found her voice, trembling with every word. “Chances with who?”

Bishop’s eyes drifted to the window, his expression clouded. “I don’t even know yet,” he said, his voice softer, as if the answer was still out of his reach.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the air thick with questions no one was ready to ask. Chloe couldn’t take her eyes off the man with the gun, her fear dulled by something new—curiosity.

Then, the sound of tires on gravel shattered the stillness. It was faint, distant, but it sent a jolt through the room. Bishop’s eyes snapped to attention, his body going rigid. His hand tightened around the gun, knuckles white against the grip.

Evelyn’s heart jumped into her throat.

He turned toward Evelyn, suspicion flashing in his eyes. The calm he’d shown moments before evaporated. “Who’s coming?”