A whole night had passed since the blast.
Now, in a different villa in Yata, Vincent was no longer the broken man who had collapsed. His gaze was razor-sharp, his presence electric. He stormed into the villa like a gale, heading straight for the living room.
And then—he saw her.
The moment Vincent’s eyes locked on the figure perched on the sofa, he lost it. He lunged forward, wrapping her in a fierce, desperate hug. Warmth. She was warm. She was real.
Katelyn felt his shaky hands, his racing pulse pounding against her chest. A faint smile curved her lips as she murmured, “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
Vincent’s grip tightened, as though he wanted to meld Katelyn into him. No one could fathom what he’d endured that night. When word came that she was safe, relief had washed over him—but doubt had dug in deeper. What if it was a lie?
Jaxen had informed him that Katelyn was alive. So Vincent pretended to faint on the spot and was then carried here by his men. Now, holding Katelyn close, Vincent could finally draw a real breath.
Katelyn hugged him back, letting her warmth calm the chaos raging inside Vincent. She’d figured he’d be upset, maybe wrecked—but not like this.
Seeing Vincent so undone shook Katelyn. She eased back gently, meeting his eyes. “I’m safe. Did you take care of things on your side?”
Vincent wrestled his feelings into line. He loosened his hold and gave Katelyn a steady nod. “Yeah. By now, word of your ‘death’ should be all over.”
Vincent and Katelyn had been in sync ever since Jaxen’s message came through. They had hatched this scheme together.
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With their enemy hiding in the dark, why wouldn’t Katelyn use this opportunity to vanish into the shadows entirely? In that case, pulling off the rest of the task would be a breeze. She was a pro at disappearing—slipping into new skins, new lives. Hiding? That was nothing.
Katelyn nodded back. “Good.”
Vincent wasn’t done. He grabbed Katelyn by the hand, eyes raking over her, hunting for any sign of harm. “What actually went down? That explosion—how’d it get so big?”
Vincent had been in the dark until now. But seeing Katelyn safe, it clicked—she’d pulled it off herself deliberately. He just wasn’t entirely sure about the specifics.
Katelyn pulled herself away from Vincent’s embrace, her movements slow and deliberate.
Without hesitation, Vincent poured her a glass of water. It was only then that he truly took in her disheveled state—dust clung to her like a second skin, and her hair was a tangled mess, wild and unruly. His sharp gaze also caught the faint scrapes marring her face.
.
.
.